


Then He Appeared

by words_are_wind



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Canon Compliant, Daddy Issues, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Forgive Me, Kinda, Literati, Mommy Issues, POV Alternating, Relationship Fix-It, Romance, Slice of Life, diverges from s4 a bit, i love them pls, i'm rewatching gg, ish, pretty jess-centric, this is my crack at fic in forever, with a dash of melodrama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_are_wind/pseuds/words_are_wind
Summary: Takes place at the end of Nag Hammadi Is Where They Found the Gnostic Gospels, a somewhat different take on that "I love you." Rory and Jess have it out. A look at the progression of their r/s from season 4 and on~
Relationships: Rory Gilmore/Jess Mariano
Comments: 65
Kudos: 405





	1. Chapter 1

“I get to leave first!” Rory yells, running from the churro line and zipping through the square. She hears Jess grunt in her periphery, something indignant and confused. _Good,_ she thinks.

“Rory, wait!” His footsteps thud behind her. “Can we just—”

“No!” she cuts him off, doing her best not to run into the hot cocoa cart in front of Doose’s, careening towards Gypsy’s, and away from prying eyes. “My town!” she screams. “I leave!”

Jess tries to keep up, any other time and he’d easily overpower Rory. She’s not exactly Stars Hollow’s track star. But the zig zag is throwing him, and for a split second he’s impressed by her speed and serpentine method. His thoughts are brought back into focus when he nearly runs over a gasping old woman. “Sorry Miss Lanahan,” Jess mutters.

Chasing after her, he grunts in frustration. “Rory, come on we look like idiots!” he yells as they venture into the dirt path towards the old bridge.

Rory snorts, turning back and sneering. “I don’t care!”

Before she runs headfirst into a big oak tree, Jess finally catches up to her, hooking his hand into the crook of her elbow and gently pulling her from forging a new path of destruction. “Please,” he wheezes.

Big, blue, angry eyes flash his way as Rory wrestles from his hold. She doesn’t run off again but starts to pace among the trees, kicking up dirt and gravel. Putting space between them, Jess thinks.

“What do you want? Why won’t you leave me alone?” Rory hisses.

“I need to talk to you.” The words sound stilted and clumsy in his head. Jess wills his mind to catch up with his mouth; he really hadn’t thought this far ahead. He better get it together, Rory looks half a mind ready to clock him.

“About what!” she shouts. “What do you have to say to me so badly we have to run like maniacs through the town square? What!”

Jess takes a deep breath. It’s so good to see her. It had been good to see her all the other times, too. But wrong, just flashes of her confused and hurt expression before he bolted. But now…Her face is flushed from the exertion, and anger too, he supposes. Still, there’s a pretty rose tint to her pale skin. Her hair’s shorter, clipped back to reveal what he always felt were unfairly bright blue eyes. Too open, too honest. Her mouth is set in a grim line, and he wonders what he could say to make her smile. Just the smallest smile.

Rory’s posture is expectant, and Jess’ brain short circuits. “Where did you learn to run like that?” he asks stupidly. Stalling.

“Are you kidding me,” she grunts, taking a threatening step forward. She’s not above punching him, she thinks wildly. Maybe she’ll push him into the lake, he _did_ offer all those years ago. _“It’s cathartic, I hear,” he’d said while smiling._ Rory’s chest cracks at the memory.

Jess raises his hands in apology. After a beat, he whispers, “Can we sit?”

Folding her arms across her chest, Rory glares. “No. You wanted to talk, so talk. What do you have to say to me? After all the time, you just up and leave, no explanation, no goodbye, nothing. And then you’re here, a year later. I’ve actually thought about this.” Her voice gains conviction. “What would Jess say to me when I see him again? What could he possibly say after all he’s done?”

There’s a catch in her voice, and Jess winces. He makes the slightest move towards her, unconscious and comforting, but Rory takes a halting step back. In the back of his mind, he reaches for sarcasm and wit, but his throat closes up. _Now or never,_ an annoying voice calls out. _Mess this up and she’s gone for good._

Clenching his hand into a trembling fist, Jess swallows. She’s right, all he’s done is run away, and now…He’s tired. Tired of tip toeing around this stupid town, tired of trying to avoid Rory, tired of keeping himself so removed from anything important.

“I love you,” he hears himself say.

Rory’s face goes slack, her body seems to wilt, and she looks up at Jess with furrowed brows and a slightly gaping mouth. In a split second, her expression twists up with such venom, it scares him. She moves quickly, rushing forward and crashing her palm against his cheek, the sound reverberating in an otherwise quiet forest. His skin stings and he peers back at her with surprise. This certainly isn’t the first time a girl’s come at him. He’s paid for his smart mouth before, but _this_ from Rory is unexpected.

She balls her fist and buries them against his chest, pushing him hard so he stumbles back. He’s never seen her so angry. The words almost come tumbling out of his mouth again. _I love you_. He must be crazy, here she is two seconds from murdering him and he’s ready to confess again. Instead he works out a strangled, “I’m sorry—” that’s cut off with her lips.

Rory kisses like she’s looking for a fight. She grips the hair at the nape of Jess’ neck so hard, tears prickle at his eyes. Nails dig into his shoulder blades, raking down his back with purpose. When he gasps in surprise, she takes advantage of the movement and filthily licks into his mouth. Twisting his head the other way, Jess relies entirely on muscle memory. He wraps one arm around her waist, another cradling her face and neck, and kisses her back like he’s holding on for dear life.

He feels like he’s floating, or dead, perhaps. Isn’t that what happens when you die, your brain compensates for the pain and replays your best memory or fantasy to soften the blow? His mind is blank, and all he can see or smell or feel is Rory, and in that moment, it’s enough.

But too quickly, she pulls away, hands bracing against his shoulders and head hanging low. He can’t see her eyes, can’t gauge where to go from here. Jess allows the space, swallowing roughly.

“You’re kind of sending me mixed messages,” he says lowly, and Rory snorts. She gifts him with a rare sardonic smile, and her expression, their posture, and the eerie quiet of the night finally catch up with him. He told her loved her.

Gingerly, Jess takes her hands and holds them between their bodies. “You don’t have to say it back,” he starts.

“I’m not.” Her words are quick, precise, sure. She watches a flash of hurt pass across his face before he smiles. Squeezing her hands once, he takes a step back and nods. Rory wonders if he’s going to run off again, but she sees him work something out in his head—an explanation, maybe. An excuse.

“I can’t,” she says quietly, before Jess can say anything. She looks at him with naked hurt. Her throat stings and her eyes feel tired all of a sudden—dry and uncomfortable, like she’s unable to cry.

“I don’t trust you,” Rory begins, eyes resolutely scanning behind him so she won’t have to watch any change in his expression. “You leave. Always. When things get hard, you clam up and leave and I’m the chump waiting around too scared to see what you do next. I didn’t deserve that. Whatever happened, however bad, you shut me out and I don’t know how to have someone like that in my life. That’s not…love,” she chokes out. “It can’t be.”

“I’m sorry,” Jess whispers.

It’s Rory’s turn to nod. His regret is plain, his openness this time a nice surprise. But it doesn’t change the past, and she rolls his words around in her head, chest tightening. _I love you._ It’s not right, she thinks. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. Wringing her hands, Rory wonders how to end this quietly, with as little collateral damage as possible. She’s so tired. Before she can awkwardly bid him goodnight, Jess gently takes her hand and leads them to the bridge, sitting down and waiting for her to do the same.

Carefully, Rory lowers herself, dangling her feet over the ledge and watching the reflection of the moon on the water. She waits.

“That day, the day of the party,” Jess starts, words tumbling from him stilted, “I tried to get prom tickets. I got called into the principal’s office instead. They told me there was no point in thinking about prom when I wasn’t even gonna graduate. I’d fucked up, skipped too much. They told me I had to retake the year, and I just…” He shuts his eyes for a second, the pain and embarrassment from the memory washing over his prone body.

Nervously, he pulls his pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and fiddles with one, twisting it between his fingers to and fro. He can’t look at her.

“I was so angry. I knew how much you wanted to go to prom, how you’d wanted to make sure the school thing was okay too, and here I went royally fucking it up. And then the next night, my old man shows up out the blue, and Luke never told me, and I lost it.” He shrugs, sharp shoulders shaking in a rough motion. When he ventures a look at Rory’s face, he feels his heart drop to his stomach. She doesn’t look angry, just sad, frowning in that way one does to keep from crying.

“You never told me any of this,” she accuses quietly. “I could have helped you.”

Jess shakes his head and smiles ruefully. “I didn’t want it,” he starts, not unkindly. “I was so pissed off, it shouldn’t have taken you to fix everything. I was so sure I had my shit figured out. I was saving up money, I was doing the bare minimum at school and thinking it was enough to finally get out of here. I was gonna move to New York, visit you at Yale on the weekends, bum around New Haven with you at ratty book stores.” His voice peters out with a sad snort. “I had it all worked out. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

He watches Rory pinch the skin of her wrist. Her face is a storm, and maybe she’s feeling how he feels right now. Mourning a bit for what could’ve been.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I wish it had gone different. I wanted to put it off for later, but at the party you could tell something was up. I didn’t want to think, that’s why…” He grimaces, regret and self-loathing pouring through his veins like fire. “I never should’ve tried to—I would never pressure you to—” he chokes out. He can remember it, the feel of her body lined up against his, writhing up the bed as he reached beneath her shirt and then for the button of her pants. It was all wrong. He knew that while it was happening, knew it when he yelled at her with accusations and anger.

Jess catches Rory wiping a stray tear from her eye and watch him sadly. “Of course I knew something happened, I just wanted to know what. And when you started…” she thinks back to that night, feels the phantom weight of his body bracing over hers. _“You’re not tired of me, are you?” she’d asked sweetly. And despite all of it, the argument, the fight with Dean, the leaving, she knew it was never that. His answering kiss was too earnest._

“I know you needed a distraction that night. But it wasn’t going to happen like that. I shouldn’t have used Dean as a crutch when we were together,” she admits. “I’m sorry about that. We should’ve been able to talk about it.”

Jess nods, anxiously twirling his stupid cigarette between his rough fingers. Rory reaches over and plucks it from him, tossing it into the water and fixing him with a serious look.

“What happened in California with your dad, Jess?”

“Nothing.”

“No more non-answers.”

He cocks his head, smiling a little. “I’m not—I mean it. The novelty wore off pretty quickly. He came to Stars Hollow out of some misplaced sense of duty, I guess. He thought I was finally old enough to understand why he’d done what he did. But I didn’t, I didn’t forgive him, and I wasn’t in the market for a father figure, either. But when I told Luke I wouldn’t retake my senior year, he said I had to go, and my only option felt like Jimmy.”

“I can’t imagine you out west,” Rory says absently. “Had you ever been to a beach before?”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Only by Coney Island. Venice Beach was…sunny,” he finishes lamely. “Cheery, weird. I thought I’d fit in somewhere, but.” He swallows past the lump in his throat. “Jimmy has his own family, a fiancée and her kid. It didn’t end in blows or anything, but I know when I’m crashing a good thing. I left for New York pretty soon after, tried to do the Kerouac thing,” he adds with a smirk. “I’m more like Jimmy than I thought though,” he says, anger bleeding into his voice. “You said it best, I up and leave.”

“You could’ve worked things out with Luke, stayed…”

Jess is shaking his head before she can finish. “I couldn’t. Redo my senior year in this town? With these people? Nearly every moment here felt like someone had their boot on my neck. You grew up here, Rory. This is home for you. But Stars Hollow is just the place my mom shipped me off to when she got bored of trying to be a parent, it’s not—” he clams up, upset at the thought of Liz, at the memory of being tossed out like he was her roommate or something.

Reaching out and squeezing his hand, Rory hopes to transfer some calm. “Maybe not going back to school,” she amends gently. “I know you hated it, I didn’t understand it, but I knew. I saw the look on your face sometimes.”

Jess watches silently, cocking his head in question.

“Like…wild-eyed,” Rory offers. “Like a caged bird or something. And I’m not saying you had to stay here for good, be the star student or whatever. But you had other options, Jess. Stay here and work at the diner to save up money. Get your GED and then move on to something you really cared about. Because town hopping and crashing with absent dads and jumping from one menial job to the next is not—you’re too good for that.” She continues to ramble about his potential with such conviction, Jess can’t help but smile.

He’s reminded of that night of the car crash. But before all that, the talk of the their futures, the sincere, heartfelt _You could do more. “Oh here come the pom-poms!” he’d retorted._ He thinks he fell in love with her that night. She believed in him, always. No conditions, no backhanded comments, just raw, unfiltered faith. It twists something in his chest.

When Rory finishes her diatribe, Jess laces his fingers with hers. “Sounds nice.”

“It could be _real,_ ” she offers. “You had other options,” she says resolutely. “Luke loves you like his own, and I—” She goes silent, scared of saying too much. _I loved you too._

He nods in understanding. Maybe she can’t say it, maybe she doesn’t feel it exactly, but Jess understands. The faith, the love, it was always there. And maybe that’s what made him run in the first place—it was a foreign feeling for him. It scared him. He carefully extricates his fingers and nimbly rises. Rory mirrors him.

“What are you gonna do now? What next?” she asks quietly.

“Got my car fixed up, I’m headed back to New York.” He shrugs. “Gonna try to…I don’t know, honestly. I just wanted to see you before. I know we’re not—not good yet, but maybe later. Maybe we’ll get there,” he adds hopefully. Stupidly.

Fiddling with the seam of her coat, Rory nods. This all feels so unfinished. But it’s better than nothing, she reasons. Images of Jess huddled in his car or angrily fighting with Luke or running away from her; it hurts, and if this talk can put an end to that or at least start the process of something more…she’ll take what she can get.

Carefully, so carefully it seems she’s moving in slow motion, Rory steps into Jess’ space and wraps her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. It’s just a hug, she justifies. Friends hug. Or, quasi-friends. Whatever they are.

Jess stands stock still at first before linking his hands at the dip of her waist, turning his head to rest his chin on her head. When’s the last time they hugged, he wonders. They remain like that for a while, before her voice rumbles against his body.

“Did you mean it?”

His brain feels muddled, she’s warm and she smells good and he’s about to ask _Mean what?_ when he’s reminded of all that’s transpired tonight. What three words unleashed a hellish slap and, in his opinion, top three kisses of a lifetime.

Swallowing roughly, Jess pulls her a little closer. “Yes.”

Rory doesn’t respond, but he hears her sniffle, a pained croak at her lips.

“Maybe you don’t believe me, I don’t have the best track record, but I mean it. You were one of the only good things to come out of all this,” Jess says.

Rory swiftly pulls back from the hug and nods jerkily, gifting him a bleak smile. Her eyes are hard, distrusting and Jess swallows another explanation down. She doesn’t deserve any of this, he reminds himself. It was selfish of him to say it, and he won’t drag this out.

Taking another step back, Rory watches him carefully, taking it all in and filing this image of him away for later. “It’s late,” she says finally. “You don’t want to drive all night.”

“Right.”

“Promise me, promise me you’ll think about what I said. About your next plans, Jess.”

“Rory…”

“Just think about it,” she says again. “And make up with Luke,” she adds for good measure. “He worries about you. He wants to make sure you’re gonna be alright. He’ll be sad if you don’t…” she shrugs, wondering how convincing she sounds.

Jess watches Rory with sad eyes. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him, and I’ll think about what you said. And uh, if you talk to your mom about this, will you let her know that I…I’m sorry too, for…” his voice loses conviction.

Rory smiles, almost laughing. “You’re on your own with that one,” she quips. The relationship between her mother and Jess might be at an all time low. She thinks of missing bracelets and broken wrists and deviled eggs. It feels a lifetime ago, but it’s just another thing tying Rory to Jess. All these ways he’s ingratiated himself into her most formative years, and for better or worse, she’s protective of it all. She hopes her mother might understand that one day.

Jess’ snort pulls her from her thoughts. “She still like to throw darts at my picture or what,” he mutters, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“She’s moved on to bow and arrows.”

“Your mother is nothing if not creative.”

“The ever illusive Lorelai.”

“And what does that make you?”

“I prefer street chases and slapping.”

Jess brings his hand to his cheek and chuckles. It’s easy, this back and forth. Maybe it’s all they know. He pulls a moleskin from his back pocket, ripping the edge of a page and scribbling something down before slipping into her hand.

“I got one of those prepaid cell phones,” he offers sheepishly. “Maybe, if you want, we can talk.”

The paper feels like fire in her hands. “Maybe,” Rory says.

His fingers itch to touch her, kiss her cheek. But he takes a step back instead. “Bye, Rory.”

“Bye, Jess.” She watches his retreating form cross the bridge back into the town square, wondering if this is the last time she’ll see him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Honey, you can’t keep falling asleep in the kitchen. It gets in the way of cooking,” Lorelai’s voice wafts through the house.

Rory grouses from a fitful sleep, squinting an eye open as unwelcome sunlight streams in. “Since when is there cooking going on in this house,” she grumbles.

Lorelai faux gasps from behind, affronted. “Excuse you, missy. What do you call this?” A steaming mug of coffee and a toasted pop tart land with a soft thud by Rory’s side. Her mother smiles down at her, worry etched in the lines of her face.

“Thanks.”

Nodding, Lorelai settles into the seat beside her daughter and gives Rory a moment to get her bearings. “What’s going on, sweets?” she asks carefully.

Rory nibbles on her poptart, enjoying the distinctly cardboard-like consistency of the crust. “Nothing,” she mumbles, mouth full.

“Uh huh. I don’t see you all night, then this morning, you’re comatose in the kitchen, books strewn about—” Lorelai picks up a stray CD, “and The Distillers? blaring in your ears? What happened?” she asks again.

Hiding behind her coffee mug, Rory chances a look at her mother. She’s not sure what is safe to tell. “I had a little run in with…the _J-word_ last night,” she confesses.

Lorelai’s face is blank. “Jesus?”

“Mom.”

“I just,” she guffaws, eyes dancing with mirth, “what a rare encounter! I think the last time was what?” She taps her chin, contemplative. “His resurrection, no?” 

Rory rolls her eyes, a little smile playing on her lips. “Hilarious.”

“I try.”

“Jess, Mom,” Rory says quietly.

Lorelai’s expression sobers some. She’d expected this. Ever since he’d mouthed off to her at Gypsy’s, she wondered if Rory would run into him. “How’d that go?” she asks, voice neutral.

“It was nothing.”

“Fat chance.”

“We talked.”

“About the weather?”

“Can we shelve the witty quips this morning? I’m not feeling so bright eyed and bushy tailed, y’know.” Her head hurts, there are purpling bags beneath her eyes.

Her mother’s eyes soften, and she raises her hands in apology. “You talked.”

“We just…” Rory swallows, remembering his confession. The crash of their lips. Her hot palm against his face. “I slapped him,” she whispers, eyes wide. It really hadn’t hit her until now; the ridiculousness of it all. He’d looked at her in surprise, and…admiration, maybe? It was a loaded gaze, heavy, and washing over her even now. She blinks, watching her mother for a reaction.

Lorelai promptly chokes on her own coffee. “’Scuse me?”

“I didn’t mean to,” she rushes to explain. “Or I didn’t _plan_ to. He was just saying all these things, and I couldn’t help it. He makes me crazy,” she mutters darkly. “It’s been over a year of nothing. No letters, no phone calls—oh! Unless you count the ominous silent breathing on the other end of the line after my graduation. Which I don’t!” Rory’s voice gains volume and shrillness. “And then he just shows up! Peppered all around town, at Weston’s, and Andrew’s bookstore, and that good oak tree on Elm, the reading tree. These are _my_ spots, _my town—”_

“Alright. Take a breath, honey. Was what he was saying…bad? I mean, it must’ve been bad for you to hit him. I don’t think you’ve ever hit anyone,” Lorelai says with a snort. “Not even in grade school, when Chuck Presby wouldn’t stop bullying you for reading at recess…”

“Mom,” Rory groans.

“Well! He was a little twerp and he treated you terribly, and all you did was give him a verbal flogging. Third graders everywhere were terrified.”

“Are you done?”

“Yes,” Lorelai replies sweetly, reaching over and squeezing her daughter’s hand gently.

After a beat, Rory squeezes back. “It wasn’t all bad,” she confesses. “With Jess. He apologized for that happened. He finally told me about school and his dad showing up. I know he had his reasons for leaving, but it was nice to hear him say it, I guess. It still hurts, though,” she says with a wince.

“Did you forgive him?”

A slap. A kiss. No I love you in return. “Not really,” she mumbles.

Lorelai nods. “Now what?”

“Now nothing,” Rory says, shrugging. “We said what we said, but it was too late. We keep missing each other.”

“Well, let me ask you this, how did you end it? Did he slither off into the void again?”

“He left but he said goodbye.” Rory thinks of the torn scrap of paper he’d written his number on. It’s still settled in her coat pocket, worn and crumpled from her touching it all night. It was an offering, she knows. An open ended way to wrap up their utterly strange reunion.

Lorelai watches a tender look cross her daughter’s face, and she works to control her expression. A lick of irritation runs up her spine at all the hurt he’s caused. She would have liked to give the kid the benefit of the doubt; Lorelai knew what it was like to be young, and angry, and stifled. But Jess…he was a ticking time bomb the minute he stepped foot in Stars Hollow, and she never wanted Rory anywhere near the epicenter.

Doing her best to swallow any unsavory comments, Lorelai pats her daughter’s arm again. “Well, I’m glad he apologized. It was long overdue.”

Rory nods.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?”

“I don’t know. He seemed different this time, less angry at the world. He actually sat down and explained things to me. It was…familiar. And not. Anyways, he’s in New York, and I’m here. Or at Yale. I don’t know if we’ll cross paths again.”

“But if you do…”

“If we do?” Looking up, Rory suddenly snorts. “You don’t have to look so appalled, Mom,” she chides.

“What? I don’t!”

“You look like you just smelt something foul.”

“That’s just my face. I had a stroke.”

“Uh huh.”

Lorelai looks down at her hands. Thinks back to all the little arguments she’d had with her daughter and even Luke during Rory’s senior year. She’d seen bits of Emily in her own behavior—pig headedness and self-righteousness that horrified her. She didn’t want to play the helicopter mom role. And yet…she was worried. “I know I can’t tell you who to hang out with,” she says lamely.

“No, you can’t,” Rory says simply. She nudges her mom’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the advice.”

“I never warmed to him.”

“No kidding.”

“I don’t know if that will change, sweets. Maybe he’s different, like you say. Only time will tell.”

Rory nods, but it hurts all the same to hear the reluctance in Lorelai’s voice. There were periods of her life with Jess before that felt unfairly scrutinized, and as a result, unfairly secret. Part of that, she realizes, is due to Lorelai. Hiding parts of herself away was exhausting. She wonders if this is how Jess feels—that it was simply easier to rebuff everyone’s misconceptions with silence and distance. She wishes he never felt he had to run. She was there, she’d always been there.

She makes a noncommittal sound. _It is what it is_ , she thinks. _Him. Me. This town_. Rory suddenly feels incredibly old.

“You’ll be okay. You’ll do the right thing,” Lorelai tries to comfort.

And even this is another undue expectation. Rory’s answering smile is frayed at the edges.

“You’re crazy smart and beautiful, and you deserve the best. This is one small hiccup in the grand journey of Lorelai Leigh Gilmore, but things will work out fine, hun. Don’t lose sleep over it.”

Rory shrugs, effectively ending the conversation. “I’m heading back to Yale later. I’ll call you this weekend, Mom.”

* * *

Rory roughly shoves her notes and textbooks aside, letting them unceremoniously clatter to the floor. She falls back on her bed with an exhausted whomp! and folds her hands over her chest. With each rise and fall of her breath, Rory wishes for calm, for the useless chatter in her mind to cease. She’s been studying for the last four hours, reviewing endless notes on the metaphysics of feminist prose during the turn of the century. Even the phrase brings a bitter taste to her mouth. Convoluted. Pretentious. The umpteenth night dedicated to studying made little difference, though. She felt the material slide off her mind like putty. Nothing stuck.

Twisting her body in bed, Rory reaches for her phone instead. A barely lit ‘2:03 AM’ glares back at her. Too late to call her mother. _It’s just as well_ , she thinks. She can’t imagine telling Lorelai how dejected she’s been feeling about Yale lately. Uttering the words would feel like betrayal somehow. Disappointment.

As she mindlessly scrolls through her phone, her finger hovers over the _‘J’_ in her contacts. It had been a few weeks since their run-in back in Stars Hollow. Rory finally added his number to her phone, carefully unfolding the scrap of torn paper and flattening it in her ratty copy of _In Our Time_ after.

 _Hemingway,_ she muses. _How fitting._ She’s suddenly met with a flash of young Jess, sitting crosslegged on the bridge, eyes soft and imploring. _“Ernest only has lovely things to say about you.”_ It had been her first inkling that Jess felt something other than the thrill of the chase about her. Something deep and true.

Rory presses the call button before she can stop herself. The line rings once, twice, before a gravelly voice answers. “Hello?”

She clams up, hands shaking. _What are you doing!_ a little voice screams.

He calls out again, “Hello?” Rory thinks she can detect the slightest irritation in his voice, and it makes her smile stupidly. He sounds sweet. Sleep-rumpled.

Finding her voice, Rory whispers, “Jess.”

“Rory?”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m sorry,” she continues in a rush. “It’s so late. I didn’t mean to—”

Jess cuts off her impending, drawn out apology. “Are you okay?” he asks solemnly. There’s an intimate urgency to his voice, and Rory can almost imagine him sitting up in bed, his dark hair a mess, a hand running over his face in exhaustion and concern.

“I’m—” she doesn’t know how to answer his question without bursting into tears. The last few weeks catch up to her in that moment. Her chest feels like it’s cracking open. “I’m sorry to call so late,” she says again.

“It’s fine,” he answers quietly, voice hushed. She hears him putter around on the other end of the line, a soft sigh as he moves, the wheezing groan of an opened window. “Where are you?” he asks after a moment.

“At Yale. In my room.” Her voice has an eerie quality that immediately sets Jess on edge.

“Just had the sudden urge for midnight pillow talk?” he asks with a chuckle, trying his best to lighten the mood. He’s out of depth here. It was rare for Rory to turn to him when she was down in the dumps. It always seemed her role to pull him up.

Rory settles further into her bed, luxuriating in the sound of his laugh—however brief it is. “No. I just…wanted to hear your voice,” she answers, surprised at the how true the words are.

“Oh.” A beat. “Well, I’m not exactly a thrilling conversationalist right now, but I’ll do my best.” His tone is brighter, louder.

“Where are you?” she asks quietly.

“At my place in the Village, huddled outside on the fire escape so as not to wake my roommates. Barefoot and in my boxers,” he adds with a laugh.

Rory snorts. “Your Dr. Pepper boxers?” she asks before she can stop herself. She remembers the tattered fabric, often peeking past his hips under his Levi’s, worn black cotton adorned with a bright red logo. Mr. Cool in cheesy boxers; it always made her laugh.

Jess chokes on the other end. “Shut up.”

“That’s not a no,” she sing songs back.

“Shall we get into your undergarment choices instead, hm?” he asks in a rush. “White with daisies? Pink with YOU WISH written on the butt?”

Rory feels a blush creep up her cheeks. She’s somehow forgotten that Jess has access to embarrassing parts of her teenage life too. She remembers hot and heavy makeout sessions above Luke’s, wandering hands, a titter of redfaced giggles. “I really didn’t call to reminisce,” she says with an embarrassed chuckle.

Jess sobers some. “No, you didn’t,” he agrees. “So what’s wrong?”

Pulling an errant pillow to her chest, Rory hangs on for dear life. Her room is dim, the only light coming from a desk lamp angled the opposite direction. It puts her at ease, as if sharing words with him in the dead of night is sacred somehow. Protected. “I was studying,” she starts. “I’ve got midterms coming up, and all my classes are a pain in the ass. Between regular coursework and exams, I feel like my brain is rotting.”

Jess hums, letting her continue.

“I just thought I’d be able to handle all this better,” Rory reluctantly admits. “I had a meeting with my professor earlier this week.”

“How’d that go?”

“He tore into a paper I wrote, telling me all the ways I’d taken shortcuts only to produce something lackluster and uninspired. And he was right, everything he said was just…It was made abundantly clear to me that I’m failing,” she answers with a wet chuckle, tears springing to her eyes. “I’m failing,” she says again. The realization hits her like a freight truck. Up until this moment, she thought she’d be able to hold down the fort—with duct tape and a flamethrower, granted. But Rory was sure she would catch up. She would do better. She thinks of her early Chilton years, throat closing up in shame.

“You are not failing,” Jess’ voice floats back, both gentle and insistent. “This is just a minor bump. I mean, how many courses are you even taking? You’re probably overdoing it to please others.”

Rory remembers last Friday night’s dinner, how her grandfather had proudly grinned at her, confiding, “I took five courses my first year as well! A Gilmore through and through, you’ll do splendidly!” _If he could see her now_ , she thinks bitterly. Barley keeping it together and whining to her ex-boyfriend in the middle of the night. _Nice one, Rory_.

She makes a noncommittal noise in the phone, a catch in her throat and a stinging behind her eyes. She can’t imagine admitting to her family that school has proven too difficult. Academics is all she knows, all she excels at. Or at least that’s what she thought.

“I’m no scholarly type, Rory,” Jess continues, “but isn’t college supposed to be more than misplaced expectations and gold stars? Pursue what you want and what you can handle. You don’t have to be this kind of—” he stops abruptly, frustrated.

“Great white hope?” Rory offers, a memory of her mother praising her as the end-all-be-all of the Gilmore clan flashing in her mind.

“Yeah,” he says, grateful that she’s catching on. “You’re the smartest person I know,” Jess assures with such calm and conviction it startles her. “You’ll be fine. Just. Be kinder to yourself. No one’s going to be disappointed if you drop a course or ask for help, I promise.”

She clutches at her phone, white-knuckled and stunned for a moment. “When did you get so wise,” she manages, wiping away at her moist face.

He chuckles wryly. “You know me. A regular Dr. Phil.”

“Minus the signature moustache.”

“And the bald head.”

“The thick accent.”

“The magnetic charisma.”

“Hey now! You’re as charming as they come,” Rory says with mock seriousness. A second later, “Thanks. I needed someone to get my head straight.”

“And I’m the one you turn to? Who woulda thunk it…” his voice sounds closer, full of cautious mirth.

“Life’s funny that way,” Rory murmurs. And it’s true. If anyone had told her, Jess Mariano—the same Jess who entered her life all hard edges and damning smirks—would be the one to talk her down the ledge amid her first Yale freakout, she would’ve laughed them out of the room. He hums in return, and Rory is struck by a sudden feeling of emptiness. She misses him, she realizes. Is taken by the fiercest urge to be close to him, to have him by her side, his calloused hand holding hers.

She swallows past the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Sensing the change in tone, Jess asks with a frown, “For what?”

 _For a lot of things. For hiding you away, for comparing you to Dean, for making you feel like you couldn’t tell me things._ “Slapping you,” Rory says instead.

“Ah, well.” Jess barks out a laugh.

“I really didn’t intend to,” her voice peters off guiltily.

“And the kiss?” he asks suddenly.

Rory is silent, the tense static of a late night call engulfing the space instead.

“You didn’t intend that either?”

“I didn’t,” she answers honestly. “But you were suddenly there, saying all these things, and I…”

“What?”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“I’m not complaining,” he says through a chuckle, tense moment seemingly forgotten.

“I know you’re not,” Rory answers with a small smile. She can feel the phantom ghost of his grip around her waist. His palm warm against her temple. His breath harsh against her ear after. It sends a buzzing down her spine.

“I didn’t mean to spring it on you that night. Maybe next time, it won’t be so, you know… _Gone with the Wind_.” She can already see Jess rolling his eyes. He hates the theatrics of it all, she knows.

Smiling, Rory turns further into her soft pillow. “Next time?” she asks sleepily. She likes the sound of that.

“Yeah. I mean,” Jess starts nervously. “I’m gonna be in Stars Hollow next week. Liz is getting married.”

Rory perks up. It’s so rare that Jess volunteers information, especially concerning his family. “She is? In Stars Hollow?”

“That’s home for her, I guess,” he replies with a soft snort, puzzled. Rory knows he can’t fathom how such a town could inspire any feelings of soft sentiment. “She wants me to meet the guy. Be there for all the wedding prep,” Jess offers quietly, tone reluctant.

“Wow. And you agreed,” she surmises.

“Luke wanted me to. I owe him,” he says simply. Rory thinks back to their last conversation. _“Make up with Luke, he loves you like his own,”_ she’d suggested. Maybe he’d already begun that process. Her heart warms.

“So,” he says stiffly.

“So.”

“Sooo,” he replies again, voice drawn out. “If you’re back home around then, maybe you can come,” he says, slightly embarrassed. “Keep me from strangling the fiancé, at least,” he mutters.

Rory is surprised at the invitation. Can’t imagine attending a family function with Jess after all this time. Or meeting Liz, for that matter. She realizes this is an olive branch of sorts; Jess is not the type to let others in, and this must’ve been hard for him. He never broached the subject of his childhood with Rory, only gave hints about his mother’s parenting style that at best, reeked of indifference, and worst, neglect and abuse. She wonders how lonely he must’ve felt as a kid.

“Yeah,” she says haltingly, already rearranging plans in her head. A weekend back home, away from Yale, and with Jess. “Yes,” she answers clearly. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” Jess’ voice wafts back, thick with some unnamed emotion. “I can…pick you up at Yale, if you want.”

Rory hugs her pillow a little tighter. She can imagine his figure—dark and fraught and clad in a worn leather jacket—cutting across the spring foliage of campus. It brings another dumb smile to her face. “I’d like that too.”

“Gotta warn you though,” he says. “Liz is planning some kind of Ren Faire shindig. Flower wreaths, bearded bards, the whole shebang.”

She chokes down a laugh. “Are you gonna wear tights?” she teases.

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? The whole thing is cracked, I mean this could just be another one of her whims, another loser guy, but…” he sounds uncomfortable.

“But you’ll be there for her anyways,” Rory finishes his thought. “That’s awfully nice of you, Jess.”

“Whatever,” he mutters.

“You’re a good guy.”

“Shut up,” he says good naturedly, embarrassed.

“You’ve got a kind heart, Mariano,” she retorts quietly. “You don’t fool me with the tough guy act. I’ve always known,” and Rory says it with such clarity it sucks the air from his lungs.

She hears him clear his throat. “Anyways, there’ll be tons of food at least,” Jess offers. He knows that will sweeten the deal; the easiest way to a Gilmore girl’s heart is through her stomach.

Rory allows the change in topic and hums appreciatively. “I love a good turkey leg,” she says cheerfully, her heart feeling lighter than it has in some time. “Anyways, what have you been up to?”

Their soft voices carry across state lines in the dead of night, sweet and secluded, and with the promise of tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

Jess wakes early Friday morning. The sun has barely crested above the New York cityscape, hazy pink streaming through the window by his bed. Outside, the low din of a new day drifts through the streets—the intermittent honking of a cab, the rumble of a delivery truck, the yelp of a dog. He buries his head in his pillow before turning over with a groan, blindly reaching for his phone. 6:05 am. Time to get up soon. He has an hour before his shift starts, seven hours of work, then another two hours to get to New Haven.

The final destination brings a wary smile to his face. If someone had told him a year ago he’d be back east now meeting up with Rory at Yale, he would’ve heckled them out of the room. Given a few rude gestures. The phone call had been a surprise. Sure he’d slipped her his number back in Stars Hollow, a desperate attempt to keep them tied after the disastrous ‘I love you,’ but he didn’t expect a follow up. When she rang at 2 am one night (morning?), dejected and near tears, Jess tried his best Luke imitation. Awkward yet heartfelt advice. His words weren’t hollow, but they felt stilted somehow. He was in no position to play life coach, and he wonders if the conversation helped her any.

Flushing slightly, he remembers how easily they slipped into their familiar back and forth. Even when they first met, conversation always came easy. Rory had a biting wit that rivaled her mother—albeit veiled by a small town princess persona and doe eyes—and Jess was all wise cracks and dry sarcasm. If the last year taught him anything, it was that he needed that kind of stimulation. That companionship, he reluctantly admits.

Back in Venice Beach, during the lost summer, he’d go days without saying a word. He spent months making silent observations with Rory’s voice responding in his head. What kind of image he must have cut out west, he thinks wryly, a perennial black hole against the shine of SoCal. _“He’s a quiet one,”_ he’d heard Sasha confide to Jimmy one night. “ _He’s…something,”_ Jimmy had deflected dumbly. Because he didn’t know his son—not at all, not in the slightest—but their last blow up on the boardwalk gave him some insight into the state of Jess’ mind. The suffer in silence persona was a façade; in actuality, his head was mess. Loud and contentious and tortured, and manifesting itself in ways that were sure to kill him.

Rory would have parsed through his head with great care and efficiency and humor, he thinks. And he would respond in kind. No, conversation was never their issue. It was confrontation. It was moving past the little witticisms and getting to the heart of the issue. Jess clenches his eyes shut, all their greatest hits playing like a slideshow behind his eyelids. A secret kiss at Sookie’s wedding, a petty fight at Doose’s one summer in D.C. later, a major fuck up at a house party, one last look on the bus. Rory wanted to keep the peace, and Jess never pushed her to find out more.

He hopes this time will be different. Isn’t even sure there _is_ a next time happening considering how he’d left things a year ago. Some of his earlier excitement tempers; an overwhelming sense of doom settles in his stomach. _Idiot,_ he chides. _You’re a fatalist now? Get it together._

Jess is pulled from his thoughts by the ringing of his alarm.

“Turn that shit off, man,” one of his roommates grumbles. Rick? Ryan? Jess isn’t sure. Four guys shoved into a studio apartment for months, and no one really knows each other. He thinks this one is a drug dealer. Or a bike messenger. In this town, it’s anyone’s best guess.

Quieting his phone, Jess rises with a grunt and sidesteps the mishmash of beaten mattresses and lumpy sleeping forms. He forgoes coffee—feeling jittery enough—and heads for the bathroom instead. Under the erratic stream of the shower head, he runs through his day again for comfort. Fourty-some minutes until his shift starts. Seven hours of work. Three fifteen minute breaks inbetween. Two hours of driving—one and a half if he’s really lucky and there’s no traffic and his piece of shit car can pull through.

And then Rory.

 _The rest is gravy_ , he thinks. Explaining it to Luke or his mother, avoiding Lorelai’s wrath, having the eventual ‘what now?’ conversation…it all takes a back seat to him seeing her again.

* * *

Rory rushes from her last midterm to her dorm, shoving clothes and toiletries into her bag, as well as a pair of heels that would make her mother proud. When Jess said Ren Faire wedding, her brain short circuited. The last time she’d been in anything remotely theatrical she was eleven, and playing Fragonard’s titular _A Young Girl Reading_ during The Festival of Living Art. Her mother sewed the gown herself.

This weekend promised a decidedly different affair, and Rory found herself phoning Lane for fashion advice, which promptly dissolved into a two hour run down of the current J-word situation.

_“What does this mean, are you guys back together?” she asked, shushing Zach and Brian in the background. Her recent moving process was an arduous one; she confessed to Rory at having to build her own wood plank hideout for personal supplies._

_“No,” Rory muttered. “Up until a few weeks ago, we weren’t even in contact. And now…we’re just trying to occupy…the same space,” she finished lamely, trying to sound both deep and unaffected._

_“Okay, Dr. Phil.”_

_Rory smiled at the reference, before her expression fell. “I don’t know, Lane. I still don’t know everything that’s going on with him. We talked a bit, but…” she trails off._

_Lane hummed. “Baby steps?”_

_“Baby steps.”_

_“Have you told Lorelai?”_

_All Lane received in response was a delicate snort._

_“Right,” she chirps back. “Another conversation for another day.” After a moment, her voice floated through the line again, hushed. “He wasn’t the best boyfriend to you.”_

_“I know.”_

_“But he was good for you.”_

_“How do you figure?” Rory asked, tossing one of her spring dresses on the bed. A definite contender._

_Lane hesitated. “I guess…yes, he was a punk and the whole Tony Manero cosplay was taxing, but he was real with you, wasn’t he? He didn’t play into the Stars Hollow cheery couple mold, and I think that threw you for a loop. You like order, and lists, and a certain level of predictability, but bucking a bit of that is good, too.”_

_“Are you saying Jess was the bad boy influence I needed?”_

_“Don’t make my advice sound so after school special,” Lane t’sked with a chuckle. “It’s just, there were times when you look thrilled. Exhilarated. Like you two were riding the same electric wavelength and had no idea where you were headed. That kind of thing doesn’t happen often,” she added quietly._

_Rory sat on her bed and wondered if Lane was thinking about Dave in that moment. She considered her best friend’s words with an open mind, gently thanking her, and moved the conversation towards hairstyles and shoe choices._

Shouldering her bag and grabbing her house keys, Rory takes a moment to steady herself before heading out. This weekend is no one-stop-shop bandaid, that much she knows. Too much has happened, too little has been said. Seeing him again will either be the impetus to work through that or put a stop to the funny little dance they seem to be doing.

Rory strides across the common room, and happens to catch her reflection in the mirror by the door. It’s almost jarring the expression on her face. Steadfast, stubborn, yes. But…what was the word Lane used? Exhilarated. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, and a small smile is playing on her lips. _Love looks good on you, Gilmore,_ a voice in the back of her head whispers. But it’s foolish, she tells herself more firmly. Maybe it was like that once, but she had to do better this time. They both did.

As she rounds the corridor past her dorm, she spots him in the lot by the quad, leaning against the hood of his car and clad in dark trousers, a worn band tee, and of course, a leather jacket. His hair is twisted in every direction, and the remnants of a light five o’clock shadow sprinkle his jaw. Rory takes in his slightly pinched expression, the furtive way he looks for her. And while some may mistake the jittery way he’s toying with a cigarette as try hard, it just brings a silly smile to her face. God, it’s good to see him. She was right, he paints quite the picture on campus. Not quite collegiate, but something else. Dark. Grown. Rory swallows.

She still isn’t in his line of sight when she inches closer to the hunk of metal he calls a car.

“You gonna smoke that or mind meld with it?”

Jess’ face whips in her direction, surprise and cautious pleasure etched in his features. “Haven’t decided yet,” he says quietly. They keep a safe distance, staring at each other dumbly, before Rory nods and steps forward, plucking the cigarette from his fingers.

“No lake to throw it into this time,” Jess quips.

Rory hums, carefully leaning into his space and pocketing the cig in his jacket pocket.

 _She’s too close_ , he thinks. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. “Hi,” he says simply.

“Hi,” Rory murmurs.

They continue to stare, breaths matching, before Jess’ gaze goes askew. He takes in the line of gothic architecture, the students lounging in the grass or bumbling from one building to the next, arms piled sky high with books.

“Midterm go okay?”

She shrugs. “S’alright,” she says, smiling hesitantly. And it’s true; she’s just finished the last exam of the term and she couldn’t feel lighter. Last week’s freakout and subsequent reality check had proven useful. Rory stopped obsessing, got an actual night’s sleep, and prepared new notecards focused on the material, instead of trying to inhale the entirety of a textbook in one sitting.

Jess nods and scratches the back of his neck. “Are you alright about…?” he trails off, expression unsure.

“I feel better,” Rory responds clearly. She can feel the eyes on them. Yale is no Stars Hollow, but still, a new face—especially one as roughspun as Jess’—is a shiny lifeline for students looking to escape the humdrum of stressful academics. Rory can see how uncomfortable he is, but appreciates his attempt to comfort anyway. “I’m good,” she reassures. “I’d give you a tour of campus, but uh—”

Jess chuckles, shaking his head self-consciously. “Maybe next time.”

She nods, gratefully pockets another _“next time”_ from him. A stray tendril of hair sweeps across his forehead, and Rory stifles the urge to tuck it behind his ear. Her hand flexes, and she curses herself silently. This is all getting a bit too _Pride & Prejudice. _She clears her throat instead. “Anyway, ready to…” she gestures to his car.

That kickstarts Jess. He pitches forward, murmuring a low ‘Yup,’ and grabs for her bag, placing it in the backseat. When they’re clear out of campus and on the I-91, Jess nods towards his glove compartment, tapping nervously at the steering wheel.

“Grab a CD.”

Rory rifles through his selection, humming appreciatively. Metallica, Pavement, Belle and Sebastian’s _Tigermilk,_ Van Morrison’s live Bang Masters session, nearly a dozen Patti Smith albums, a stray Kate Bush. _Eclectic boy,_ she thinks sardonically. She snorts as she plucks one of the last CDs. “Steely Dan?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

Jess is already scoffing. “Don’t look at me. I swear Luke snuck that in last time I was in Stars Hollow.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t start,” he scolds, a little smirk playing at his lips.

“If it _really_ is Luke’s,” she starts, suspicious, “Mom would never let him live it down, she’d give him hell,” Rory replies with a chuckle.

At the mention of Lorelai, Jess’ expression falls. “You tell her yet?” he asks quietly. Doesn’t specify.

“I alluded,” she replies cryptically. It’s all she can manage right now, thinking back to the vague yet no nonsense message she left for Lorelai that morning. All she received in return was a simple text, _Okay, sweets. Take care, I’ll be around._

They both nod mutely, and Rory slips a weathered Pearl Jam CD into the player. “Alive” starts rumbling through the speakers. 

“Ah, a grunge purist, you are.” Jess smiles in approval, mood uplifted, and the both of them settle into comfortable silence as Eddie Vedder croons on.

_While she walks slowly across a young man’s room // She said, “I’m ready for you,” // Why can’t I remember anything to this very day // ‘Cept the look, the look_

_“Is something wrong,” she said, of course there is // “You’re still alive,” she said oh, and do I deserve to be? // Is that the question // And if so, if so who answers? // Who answers?_

The rest of _Ten_ plays while Rory and Jess exchange few words, lapsing into intermittent conversation about school and work, all the while avoiding the rather large elephant in the room. Or car. And maybe that suits them fine; neither seems ready and willing to have it out during the ride back to Stars Hollow. The mood isn’t uncomfortable, or unpleasant even, but a heavy, pregnant fog seems to envelop them. They move around each other in the confined space. Jess lurches forward to turn the volume dial on the stereo, and Rory adjusts in her seat and unconsciously angles her body towards him. Jess gazes at the soft line of her neck, the soft bob of her head to the music, and Rory peeks to her left and watches his fingers flex on the shifting gear. It’s a study in clandestine observation, and each has the other’s rapt attention.

Jess tries to distract himself by peering at the passing landscape, and Rory follows suit. The thick trees along the interstate have thinned some as the seasons changed, and a hazy peach light streams through the openings in the foliage. A breeze wafts through the car. The air is crisp for a spring evening, and Jess catches Rory tremble a bit. Gesturing to the backseat, he offers her his hoodie and apologizes for the busted heater. He’ll have to talk to Gypsy about that during this visit—another notch in the life of this behemoth automobile. Rory offers him a sheepish, grateful smile and twists her body to reach back, the hem of her cardigan raising from the motion and unveiling a stretch of pale, taut skin along her lower stomach.

Jess swallows, his eyes following her movement before he snaps his head forward and grips the steering wheel white-knuckled. They reach the end of the bang masters session, Van’s throaty vocals warbling the last dregs of “Beside You,” and Jess is suddenly itching for a cigarette, body tense. He peeks from the corner of his eye and watches Rory slip on his ratty Tool hoodie from the front, threading her arms through the sleeves and bringing her fists to her mouth to huff out warm air. She looks content, and Jess’ gaze is hot on her.

The atmosphere is just shy of tense when Rory speaks. “I stole your Metallica shirt,” she admits, apropos of nothing and looking everywhere except at Jess.

He chokes. “You what?”

She turns towards him, wrapping herself deeper in his outerwear, as if to use it as a shield. “The one with the gross alien-looking thing. You know, the…” Rory trails off, raising her hands as if to mime the shape of the image midair.

Jess cuts her off with a snort. “I know the one.” It was one of his favorites. He’d worn it so much the neckline had warped and the fabric at the hem was threadbare. He’d lost it sometime before California. “I always thought Luke tossed it out. You stole it?” he asks, expression twisting up with amusement.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“What do you mean, how?”

“I mean, did you slide down the chimney and pull a Santa Claus or get all dressed in black and pull a _Mission Impossible_?” His smirk is growing, imagining Rory being surreptitious enough to swipe anything of his.

Rory scoffs good naturedly, rolling her eyes. “It was during that bad storm,” she starts quietly. “I dragged you to the Stars Hollow football playoffs, remember? Bribed you with books and your choice movie nights and Thai Food. It was late after the game, and Luke was at his cabin, and Mom was at some industry conference in Woodbridge, and you took me back to the diner apartment. It started pouring and we were soaked.” A pretty blush paints her cheeks as she continues. “You lent me your shirt, that exact shirt just to bug me, in fact. And then after…I just kept it. It wasn’t some nefarious plan or anything,” Rory finishes with a shrug, finally braving a glance at Jess.

He watches her carefully, smirk gone and expression thoughtful. He pictures her that night—pale, flushed, hair sticking to her temples, and his t-shirt hanging off her soft frame, hitting her upper-thigh. Jess swallows. “I remember now,” he murmurs, gaze loaded before he turns back to the road.

A beat.

“Do you still have it?” he asks, eyes forward. He can’t look at her right now, he’ll do something stupid like pull over and kiss her.

Rory rubs the sleeves of his hoodie between her fingers, eyeing the stray threads. “Yeah, I still have it. It’s in my bag right now,” she adds for good measure, because she knows it sets him off.

He turns to her sharply, breathing roughly through his nose before forcing himself to relax. “Alright.” Jess smiles again, aiming for disarming and only achieving something slightly choked. “Hand it over,” he quips.

Rory squawks in protest. “No way. Finder’s keepers,” she chirps, feeling bratty all of sudden. She swats at him with an extended sleeve as “Wild Leaves” plays on the stereo. It’s a side of herself she rarely lets out, and a warning voice cautions Rory against easily falling into the same familiar dynamic with Jess. Still, she shoots him a wide grin, toothy and mischievous, and he responds with his own.

“Just for the night,” Jess amends, rolling his eyes. “I have TJ’s bachelor party later, and that shirt will be sure to improve my evening.”

“How so?”

“It’ll turn off TJ. It’ll piss off Luke. Two birds, one bitchin’ stone.”

Rory’s answering glare is reproachful as she tries her best to fight off a smile. “Jess.”

“Hey, I’m going, aren’t I? Let me have some fun,” he simpers, expression morphing into puppy dog eyes and a puffy pout. It’s a goofy look, almost unsettling on Jess’ usually dark and sharp features, and he can’t hold it for too long, immediately breaking into low chuckles.

Her (his) sleeve smacks his face once with a thwack! Rory giggles, shaking her head and relenting. “Fine. I’m keeping this hoodie in the meantime though. As leverage.”

Jess smiles warmly in return, and it feels like old times. Teasing words and shared laughs as they would stroll from the diner to the gazebo to read. But they aren’t seventeen anymore, and his chest aches at the time lost. Being wrapped up here in this car, away from curious eyes and harsh judgement, feels like a lie, somehow. They’ll have to discuss the past and the future sooner or later. A pit settles in Jess’ stomach at the thought; there are infinite ways he could screw this up, his mind reeling at the possible scenarios. His face must mirror the state of his internal thoughts, as Rory silently reaches over and pries open his fist resting against the gear, linking her hand with his calloused palm and squeezing once. Neither says a word, and as they careen towards the exit for Stars Hollow, things feel a bit more real.

* * *

Later that evening, when Rory is settled in bed—the rest of the house ghostly quiet as Lorelai finishes up a catered event in Simsbury for the night—her phone dings with a new message from Jess.

_Save me._

Rory snorts. She wondered how long before his antisocial tendencies would make an appearance. _Not enjoying your lap dances?_ she types back.

_Bite your tongue, Miss Gilmore, this is a highbrow event._

_My mistake, sir._

_Yeah. We’ve moved past lap dances. There are chicks mud wrestling instead._

Rory rolls her eyes. _Jess,_ she scolds, a niggling at the back of her mind. She really didn’t need to hear all this, but she figures it’s something that Jess is reaching out again. Maybe he’s just bored, she reasons. She can’t picture him in the seedy din of a strip club. He probably has a book shoved in his back pocket, she thinks with a snort.

A few minutes pass before her phone dings with another reply.

_It’s over._

_So? How was the night, all in all?_

His response comes in with quick succession:

_\- The shirt was a hit._

_\- I brought my old copy of Great Expectations to stay busy._

_\- TJ tried to coerce me into walking Liz down the aisle on Sunday, I refused, and he slapped said copy out of my hands._

_\- There may have been a fight._

_\- We may have been kicked out of the strip club._

_\- On our way back now, praise god._

Rory abruptly sits up in bed, staring at her phone wide eyed. That’s quite a night, she has to admit. She quickly dials his number, and breathes out, “Are you alright?” when he answers.

Jess chuckles on the other end of the line. He sounds tired. “We’re okay. Luke’s none too happy with me, but what else is new?” he mutters.

“Is the wedding still—I mean, are you—” Rory clamps up, considering her words.

“I’ll walk her down the aisle,” he murmurs after a beat, voice hushed. “It’ll keep the peace, right. Besides, I owe—”

Rory cuts him off, can’t bear his defeated tone tinged with sadness. She feels an unfamiliar emotion run down her spine. Anger, she realizes. She’s angry for Jess. “Do you owe her anything?” she asks sharply. “Your mother.”

Jess breathes roughly on the other end of the line. This is the closest they’ve come to discussing Liz, and every trauma that comes along with growing up with a mom like Liz. He swallows past the lump in his throat. “No,” he answers resolutely. “It’s okay, though,” he reassures, voice warm. “I’ll be okay,” he adds.

Tears spring to Rory’s eyes, and her throat is dry. She recognizes his resigned attitude, but the acceptance and assurance is new. She thinks back to all their time together, back to even before his first day in Stars Hollow. What was his life like back in New York? Why had he been so unceremoniously dumped in this small town? What happened in California and on his journey back east to break and (cautiously) build him back up again? He carries everything with him, she realizes brokenly. The devil-may-care attitude works as a front to keep him detached, but Rory recognizes the exact opposite in his weighted gait. He watches everyone, he reads everyone, and he’s hunched under the load; years of people who failed him first, who never gave him a chance to begin with. Endless thoughts swirl in Rory’s head, but all she can offer is a strangled, “I’ll be there too.” She hopes he understands.

Sighing, Jess murmurs, “I know. Thank you.”

Before she can answer, a murky voice resembling Luke appears in the background. “Who are you talking to, tough guy?”

“It’s Rory,” Jess bites back, patience thin.

“Oh—Rory! Well, that’s—”

Jess’ voice cuts in. “Alright. Uncle Luke is wigging. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Rory wipes at her wet face and chuckles. “Yeah.” They’d agreed to a day at Andrew’s bookstore and maybe the underground record store in Hartford. A day of calm before wedding festivities. He would have to be back for dinner, though. Jess had promised Liz. Another promise, another weight to carry.

Rory swallows a remark and tells him to be safe on his way home. “Goodnight, Rambo,” she says tenderly.

Jess laughs this time, a drawn out, genuine noise. “Night, Rory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kind comments ^.^ it's been a lot of fun rewatching the show and exploring what could've been!

It’s late by the time they’re back in Stars Hollow. The both of them are bone tired, and it had been a (thankfully) quiet ride home to the diner after dropping TJ off at his brother’s.

“Thanks again for letting me stay,” Jess says gruffly, avoiding eye contact.

Luke grunts in response, dropping his keys to the side table and taking off his hat.

Jess swallows a wry snort; even in a slightly drunken, post strip club fight stupor, the man is a study in brevity. He heaves his overnight bag from the floor and begins to unpack its contents onto the small single bed. It still feels strange, he has to admit, having a space of his own—even one as cramped and exposed as the additional corner of Luke’s diner apartment. Jess mindlessly sifts through the handful of books and stray clothes he packed. His mind is a mess—a symphony of exhaustion from having to deal with TJ and the quieter anxiety of his earlier conversation with Rory.

 _“Do you owe her anything, your mother?”_ He tosses her words around in his head. He’d never heard her so unforgiving or conflicted before. It sends a slow buzz of something up his spine. The same feeling he got his first night in Stars Hollow, when Luke unceremoniously nicked the cigarette from his lips and insisted he wasn’t going to let Jess fall off the edge of the earth. It makes him uncomfortable, to have people in his camp looking out for him. His mouth pulls into a bleak smile. Not for the first time, he curses Liz. For raising a kid so screwy inside he can’t even accept basic support.

Jess is pulled from his thoughts by the sudden silence. He peers up and finds Luke sitting at the table, carefully undoing the strap of his watch and watching Jess with a funny look on his face.

“Problem?” Jess asks sweetly, tone put on. He can’t help it; he feels exposed here. In this apartment. In this town.

Luke throws his head back and chuckles darkly. “I got in a fight with my nephew tonight. At a strip club. I’ve never been in a fight. Well, that’s not true. It was sixth grade, and Matthew Culler called me a doodyhead. I broke his nose,” he says, eyes bright before zeroing in on Jess again. “Never a dull moment with you.”

“I missed you too, Uncle Luke.”

Luke snorts outright this time.

“And _we_ didn’t get into a fight,” Jess corrects. “You just held me back from socking _Gary_ in his big, dumb face. And it was less a strip club and more a mud pit.” Rolling his eyes, Jess grabs a pair of sweatpants and shuffles into the bathroom. He can’t bear to change his Metallica t-shirt though. He would never say so out loud, but it still smells like Rory.

He hears Luke grumble. “Like TJ cares. He said it was a bonding moment for you two.”

“Of course he did,” Jess mutters, running a wet cloth over his face. The guy was a nutjob. A ren-faire, tights-loving nutjob. Of course he’d take an experience as deranged as tonight’s and chalk it up to step-son-to-be bonding.

Jess flips the switch to the bathroom light and gracelessly makes his way back to his bed, plopping down with a groan.

Pulling a beer from the fridge, Luke edges by the invisible line of Jess’ portion of the apartment, scuffing the toe of his socked foot at the floor. He looks tired all of a sudden, unsure. “You’ll really walk your mother down the aisle?” he asks, eyes glued to the bottle label.

Jess swallows past equal parts frustration and unfamiliar fondness. No matter the situation, Luke always seems to straddle the line of awkward affection. Shrugging, he pins his uncle with a flat look. “Yeah,” he says simply.

Luke nods. “You know,” he starts, “I don’t know what possessed you to come here for the wedding, but it means a lot to Liz. I know she wasn’t the easiest person to live with, but—”

“Let’s not get into that,” Jess cuts him off, nerves frayed.

He doesn’t have the heart or patience to explain to Luke that it’s not the same—that he didn’t just grow up with a flaky, somewhat ditzy Liz Danes, scoffing at her eccentricities or cleaning up after her messes. Liz was his mother, the person who was supposed to raise Jess, love him, look out for him. What he got instead would’ve sent any social worker crying out the door. He remembers weeklong benders, empty bottles of booze and stray joints lining the hallway of their crappy Bronx apartment, biting words when Liz’ man of the month split—just like Jimmy—and her only outlet to vent was her teenage son who had more Mariano in him than Danes. All the while, they shuffled from one shitty living situation to the next, and Liz dabbled with her newfound love of the supernatural and the surreal while ignoring her son.

It wasn’t a household. It was even a roommates situation. One day, Liz simply gave up and put him on a bus to Connecticut. Skirted any parental responsibility to her bumbling brother. And unfortunately, the no-nonsense tough love routine came a little too late for Jess. He thinks back to all the times he butted heads with his uncle, who clearly loved him but couldn’t even begin to understand the disturbing trauma left behind when your mother didn’t want to be a mother anymore.

Jess shakes his head, trying to do away with the bad memories. He knows she’s clean now; he’s seen the open, affectionate look on her face the past few weeks. And he knows she loves him in her own roundabout way. It still stings though, to have lived through more of Liz’s bad spells than her sober years. But this is all too much for Luke to hear. He’s just beginning to get along with his sister, and Jess didn’t come back to this boonesville town to damage that.

“I didn’t do this for her,” Jess says quietly, honest for the first time in a while. “I know she’s better, that’s good,” he amends, taking in the slight look of hurt on Luke’s face. “But I only agreed to all this because of you. You always…” he searches for the right words, face twisting up awkwardly. He _really_ can’t stand these sentimental moments. Clearing his throat, Jess continues. “You always looked out for me, whether I asked for it or not. I…never thanked you for that. But it means a lot to me. I owe you. I’m trying,” he finishes lamely, the tips of his ears going red in embarrassment.

Luke looks at his nephew like he’s grown a second head. “That’s the most I’ve heard you say in the last year and a half,” he murmurs.

Jess’ gaze goes askance, he fiddles with the hem of his shirt distractedly. That’s not quite true, he thinks. They had it out about the car, he ripped Luke a new one about always trying to fix things. But he gets it, they don’t usually talk like this. “Don’t get used to it,” he mutters.

Easing into the leather couch, Luke’s face morphs into a gentle smile now. He takes a swig of his beer before asking, “When’d you get so wise?”

Jess snorts. “Now you sound like Rory,” he says without thinking. Abruptly, he jerks his head up, wishing he could take the words back. He watches Luke’s expression change, his eyes turn contemplative.

“You two…” he starts.

But Jess is already shaking his head. “Sorry, but I think we’ve reached our quota for uncle-nephew heart-to-hearts,” he quips, opening his weathered copy of _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ and effectively ending the conversation. He already endured a litany of questions from TJ and his merry band of idiots before the bachelor party.

_“So you came here with your girl?”_

_“You taking her to the wedding?”_

_“She read as much as you, Reads?”_

Luke had just watched Jess’ reaction carefully.

Now, he simply nods, placing his beer on the table and rifling through his closet for sleep clothes. After changing, Luke rests on the foot of his bed, his gaze moving towards his nephew every once in a while. For the most part, Jess seems unchanged. He’s huddled in the corner with a book in his hands, much like he’d been during his surly teenage years. His hair is slightly longer, his features a tad sharper, and his clothes hang looser on his frame. Luke winces at that, wonders how hard the last year must’ve been for him. Vows to be more of a support and a presence if Jess allows it.

But there’s something else. A strange calm to his demeanor that Luke can’t quite place. Only in the quietest moments, when he’d catch glimpses of Jess and Rory reading in the gazebo or hanging outside the diner did he see it. _She grounds him,_ he thinks. He’s not sure where those two stand. He was beside himself when he learned they had been in contact, but the fact that Jess gave her a ride back to Stars Hollow was a good sign. And his behavior since then has been more agreeable, though protective and unsure. Still, Luke recognizes the tender way Jess regards Lorelai’s daughter. That much hasn’t changed. Luke hangs his head, anticipating Lorelai’s reaction to all this—especially in comparison to his support for the couple—but any remorse is immediately tempered by the joy of having asked her himself to Liz’ wedding. _It’s not a date,_ a voice cautions. But if he plays his cards right… Luke smiles. He can see her face.

* * *

Jess helps Rory lug three massive bags up her front steps and into the house. One is filled to the brim with Indian food, the others are stuffed with battered first editions they scored from a used book store in Hartford. They had tried reading quietly at Andrew’s, but the curious eyes proved too much for the pair. It wasn’t the first time Rory cursed the small town quirkiness (read; nosiness) of Stars Hollow. Perhaps she felt as stifled as Jess did. The day had been a success though. Rory left before her mother woke and spent a few glorious hours with Jess in their own world.

**

As his car lurched down the interstate, Rory slipped a Go-Go’s CD into the stereo and shyly faced him.

“Tell me something,” she said suddenly, breaking the peaceful silence.

Jess peered at her cautiously. “Like what?”

“Tell me about California,” she requested, pulling her legs up on the seat and hugging them to her chest.

He was quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“Jimmy’s got this hotdog stand,” Jess began, “Dante’s Inferno.” Rory’s answering smile matched his own. “It’s right on the boardwalk, behind the carousel and the glass figurine shop for all the Venice Beach burnouts to enjoy. Most days, I’d help out early, unloading supplies and bussing tables. Maybe food service is my fate,” he added wryly, pulling another smile from Rory. She remained silent though, urging him to continue.

“After the crowds thinned, I’d bum off to the nearest bookstore and watch people filter in and out of the beach. You had your tourists, your locals, your average potheads, and your occasional full grown man in a thong rollerblading.”

Rory laughed brightly. Jess always painted quite the picture. She could see it clearly.

“The sun shone all day long,” he added, mouth pulled in a thin line. “Seriously, I’ve never been to a place with so much light, it was like I couldn’t see past the summer haze of the boardwalk. And at first, I thought maybe it was the same brand of shiny, perky … _whatever_ that Stars Hollow has, but it wasn’t. Later in the day, the families would go home, the beach cleared, and suddenly these people would amble along, a lost look on their faces.” His eyes were far away. “They looked like me,” he said quietly.

Rory cocked her head, resting her cheek on her palm.

“And I started thinking maybe this is what California is supposed to be. Beyond the sunshine and the palm trees and the overpriced salads, it’s just…a hub for aimless youth. A new start. You know, Jimmy was only a few years older than I am when he first got there. He was twenty something, with a crazy wife and a newborn who probably looked too much like him for his liking, and he just fucked off out west. I spent all summer looking for traces of his old life in his new one, and there was none. He’d gone out there for a clean slate, and he got it. Until I showed up, I guess.” Jess’ voice was raw, angry.

Rory placed a trembling hand on his thigh, sending warmth his way. “He came to Stars Hollow first,” she reminded him. “So maybe it’s less about erasing your past and more trying to do better with your future. He ran off to California—”

“Just like I did.”

“And the years caught up with him. He reached out—however misplaced or fumbling—and now you get the opportunity to…” Rory stopped short, choosing her words carefully.

“What?” Jess gripped the steering wheel, too scared to look at her face.

Squeezing his leg comfortingly, Rory smiled gently. “You either go it his way, or learn from his mistakes. You’re here now, you’re making amends with Luke, being there for your mother, and me…we’re,” she shrugged, “Well, I don’t know what we’re doing,” she said with a laugh. “But you’re here,” Rory stressed. “You’re not Jimmy. And you’re definitely not Liz. You could do anything.” Her blue eyes shown brighter. “I knew it. I knew it the first time I saw you, you were this entire person, filled to the brim with _something_ , something I could’ve spent my whole life figuring out.” She shrugged again, suddenly embarrassed with the direction of this speech. “You just have to let yourself have it,” Rory finished softly.

“Have what?”

“The life you deserve,” she said quietly. “And let people help you. The whole rebel without a cause thing is getting old,” Rory added, tone lighthearted.

Jess laughed to cover up the stinging behind his eyes. It was the most peculiar feeling, to have a pretty girl by his side telling him she believed in him. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it; he’d always feel that same quivering thrill, regarding Rory and realizing all the ways she’d carved a place for herself in his heart.

“Is this payback for my pep talk last week?” he asked with a snort, blindly reaching down and placing a hand over hers.

Rory turned her palm over and laced their fingers together, humming. “Tit for tat,” she quipped, head bopping along to “We Got the Beat.”

A little while later, Jess squeezed her hand. “I love you.” He found it was easier to say it the second time. Would probably always be easy to say. He wasn’t expecting her to return the sentiment, and she didn’t. But the tender look on Rory’s face was enough to settle his heart. Maybe she wasn’t sure what they were doing, but Jess was determined to show her.

**

Back at her house, Jess helps Rory unload the Indian takeout—trying his best to hide a grimace at the smell—when Lorelai breezes into the kitchen.

“Hellooo,” she drawls, “Darling daughter? Fruit of my loins?” She stops short at the sight of Jess. “Oh.”

“Mom,” Rory says sweetly, smiling to ease the tension. “Hi.”

“Hi, honey. Jess,” she says haltingly, nodding in his direction. Lorelai’s eyes are hard.

“Hey,” he manages, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. “I was just helping bring this stuff in,” he gestures to the food and books. “I gotta go,” he adds quickly. “Liz is expecting me.”

Lorelai nods slowly. “You guys have a good day?”

Rory nods emphatically. “It was great. Mom, I have to show you this bookstore the next time we’re in Hartford. They had such good finds and for so cheap! Oh, let me grab some stuff for you, Jess. Hold on.”

Before he can protest, she’s already skipping into her bedroom and rifling through one of the bags of books. Jess chances a look at Lorelai, smiling stiffly. “So.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“I heard you’re going to Liz’ wedding.”

“Luke asked me.”

“Good, that’s good.” A beat. “Should be quite the show.”

Lorelai nods, watching him carefully.

Biting the bullet, Jess forces his shoulders to relax. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Walking over to the fridge and pulling out a beer, Lorelai turns to him with a harsh look. Her eyes are unsettling, Jess notes, so much like Rory’s and yet completely different. Maybe Lorelai is more like Emily Gilmore than anyone realizes. “For what?” she asks simply.

“For all the shit I pulled back then,” he begins quietly. “I should’ve treated Rory better. I should’ve made more of an effort with you. I should’ve been kinder to Luke. I’m trying…we’re doing better.”

“You and Luke? Or you and Rory?”

“Both,” he murmurs, gaze glued to the floor. He feels both chastised and hopeful. When he peers back at her, Lorelai’s expression has slightly softened. Before she can respond, Rory wanders back into the kitchen, arms cradling a handful books, and each one with a smattering of obnoxious pink post-its inside.

He quirks an eyebrow at her and she smiles. “For annotations.”

“I’m gonna write in the margins anyway,” Jess answers with a snort, pulling on his jacket and taking the books from her with a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Rory chirps, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Shaking his head, Jess laughs. He stands there for a minute, smiling like a fool before he remembers Rory’s mother playing audience. Swallowing, he murmurs, “See you tomorrow,” to the both of them and quickly squeezes Rory’s elbow with a free hand before heading out.

Rory’s answering smile is warm, and Jess feels lighter than he has in some time as he makes his way back to Luke’s.

* * *

Jess watches with some satisfaction as Luke manages an awkward greeting to Lorelai the next day, his uncle blushing some at the sight of her in soft pink hues and a flower wreath. He feels Rory walk up next to him, her hand finding his briefly before she turns and adjusts his tie. She’d stopped by the diner earlier, taken in the mess of clothes throughout the apartment, and quickly vetoed the mustard button up Jess planned to wear.

Now he’s standing in slacks and a simple white dress shirt and jacket, a blue tie, and a lone flower Rory pinned to his breast. The marigold of it matches her outfit; a simple wrap skirt that drapes from above her knees down to her ankles, a breezy black and gold blouse tied neatly at her waist, pretty heels with straps that confuse him, and her short hair in soft curls, pinned back with an ornate flower crown. Jess’ mouth is dry; she looks beautiful.

“You really…” he trails off, eyes taking her in again.

She hums, her arm in his as they trail behind her mom and Luke. “What?”

“You look great.”

Rory smiles. “You said that already.”

“Bears repeating,” he says quietly, nudging his shoulder into hers.

Shrugging, Rory shoots him a tiny grin. “You clean up pretty well, too.”

They make their way to the town center, the gazebo and surrounding area decked out in a generous bloom of peach and magenta foliage, twinkle lights strung from one tree to the next, and a small gathering of white chairs on either side of the aisle. Jess recognizes the decorative wood archway at the head of the path, where the minister and TJ stand. Luke had been working on that the last few weeks, deftly carving out vines and flowers along the pillars. This whole affair, from the details to the town, is a love letter to Liz in some ways. From Luke especially. Jess swallows down an uncomfortable surge of emotion, wonders if he could grow to be the kind of man his uncle is.

Sensing the change in his demeanor, Rory squeezes their hands once, twice. “You ready?” she whispers.

Luke and her mom have already taken their seats. She catches a glimpse of Crazy Carrie laying it on thick down the aisle. Her mother must be having a field day with that. She and Jess stick to the outskirts of the crowd, wrapped up in each other’s gazes. Gesturing behind him to Miss Patty’s studio where his mother is getting ready, Jess nods. 

“Yeah, I better…” he trails off, sighing slightly. The tie suddenly feels too tight around his neck. Pitching forward, Jess places a soft kiss on her cheek, for once lacking the self-consciousness brought on by being in Stars Hollow. Rory accepts it with wide eyes and a little smile.

“Go on,” he says, nodding towards their seats up front. “I’ll meet you at the end of the aisle,” he quips before suddenly choking at the implication. “I mean,” he sputters.

Rory laughs brightly, cracking up at the stricken look on Jess’ face. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder and urges him away. “Walk pretty,” she calls out.

He sends her a goofy look before tipping his face skyward. It’s going to be a long day.

* * *

Rory watches Liz arrive to the town square in a chariot, Jess awkwardly meeting her at the door but gingerly helping her down. Her dress is simple, a long sleeved cream colored frock with pretty stitching. Flowers are braided into her hair, a matching bouquet in her hands, and there’s an open, happy look on her face. Her eyes are shiny when they meet her son’s.

Rory still hasn’t met Liz yet. Not officially anyway, and any bitterness and anger she held for the woman quiets some at the scene before her. Mother and son walk arm and arm down the aisle while the harpist plays a sweet melody, and when they reach the end, she watches Liz pull Jess into a fierce hug. He accepts in stiffly, but allows her to cradle his face in her hands, their foreheads touching before he nods to TJ and settles in his seat next to Rory.

She can’t quite figure out the look on his face, but she reaches over and threads her fingers with his, running her thumb along the inside of his wrist.

Jess leans forward. “How’d I do?” he murmurs.

A swell of emotion tugs at Rory’s chest. She gifts him with a soft kiss at his temple and smiles, hoping that’s enough for now.

* * *

The ceremony itself is, of course, a little kooky. It wouldn’t be Stars Hollow—or Liz and TJ, for that matter—if it weren’t. The court jesters cartwheeling down the aisle and the long-haired former troubadour plucking a lyre set the tone, and it’s a night filled with turkey legs, Ye’ Old English, and men in tights.

But Liz is beaming, and TJ is kissing her again, and the townspeople are yelling ‘Huzzah!’ so Jess can’t really be bothered by the whole thing. He catches Luke and Lorelai waltzing— _Luke can waltz?_ he wonders quizzically—and smiles to himself as he makes his way towards Rory. She’s sat next to a big man, a former convict-turned-ren faire regular, if he remembers correctly. Rory nods along, smiling politely before gazing hungrily at her food. Her plate is piled high with every dish known to man, and he can’t wait to see her attempt to wolf most of it down before he gets the courage to ask her to dance.

Dropping into the seat beside her, and angling his body a bit so their knees brush, Jess chuckles. “Nice conversation?” he asks quietly. He shrugs off his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. The neck of his tie is loose from all the nervous fidgeting he’s done tonight.

“I now know the real world trades taught in prison,” she jokes, pushing half her plate onto his despite his grumbling. “You gotta eat,” she chides.

They lapse into intermittent conversation, sometimes eating, sometimes leaning into each other’s sides, soaking up the warmth. Jess has an arm slung behind the back of Rory’s seat, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on her bare shoulder when his mother approaches.

He regards Liz carefully, smiling slightly but otherwise keeping his mouth shut. Her eyes are clear, though, like she knows what he’s thinking and she simply laughs in response. It’s an odd exchange, so different from his upbringing.

“Hey, baby,” she croons, pulling him up and into another hug. Jess allows it, wants her to be happy on her day. When he steps out of her arms, she peers down at Rory, smiling brightly. “This your girl?”

Before Jess can stumble through a reply, Rory rises and offers her hand, a careful, though genuine smile on her face. “I’m Rory,” she says. “Lorelai’s daughter.”

“Oh! Right, right. Wow, look at you two. You look beautiful, honey. The ren-faire vibe suits you,” Liz gushes.

Rory smiles self-consciously but settles into Jess’ side, placing a grounding palm on his back. “Thank you. Congratulations, you and TJ seem really happy.”

“Oh, he’s wonderful. Really gets me, you know? And after my second husband who died, and my third husband who split, I thought ‘well heck, now what?’ And then one day, this guy just walks into my life and I felt, _calm_ , you know. Like the universe finally made sense.” Liz is rambling but her gaze is bright, and Rory can’t help but envy the look of pure bliss on her face. She peers at Jess and he’s got a longsuffering smirk on his face. She wonders if he believes his mother.

“Look at me, going on and on. Ha! You kids have better things to do than listen to me. Go, go eat and dance and drink and be merry,” she adds, patting Jess’s cheek with a warm palm. “Thank you again, honey. For today.”

Jess shrugs. “It’s no biggie,” he says quietly.

A look flashes across Liz’s face, something tender and sad. She nods and bids them goodnight, searching for her husband in the crowd.

“So that’s Liz,” Rory murmurs.

“The one and only.”

“You did a good thing today.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.” Jess plays with her fingers, gaze soft.

He waits, sure that she’ll start asking questions, but Rory simply smiles and pulls him away from the table, nodding towards the dance floor. She’s always taking the first step.

Jess trails behind her, their fingers linked, before he pulls her close and settles his interlocked hands at the small of her back. Rory rests her arms around his neck, and they sway softly. The look on his face is intense, and she chuckles nervously, eyes shifting towards the archway of soft lights.

“Who woulda thought I’d get a dance out of Jess Mariano,” she teases. “Mr. Too Cool for School himself.”

Gulping, Jess hugs her closer. “I owe you a dance,” he says lowly, voice tinged with regret.

When she peers back at him, his eyes are sad. “I’m sorry about prom,” he explains.

It feels a lifetime ago, Rory realizes. Winter carnivals, and failed Friday night dinners, and Stars Hollow High prom. Little things that reminded her they weren’t on the same page back then. They weren’t living the same lives. But being here with him now is a surprising turn of events, and maybe it’s a way for them to make up for the past. Move forward.

She shrugs, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “I know,” she says simply.

“I’m gonna do better.”

“I know that too.”

“And I want…” Rory feels his heart quicken beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. She waits for him. Her words from yesterday play in her head; _“You just have to let yourself have it. The life you deserve.”_

Jess swallows. “You,” he grounds out. “I want to be with you, and maybe that’s unwise considering our past and my incredible penchant for fucking things up, but I’m resolved to be good enough for you. If you’ll let me. And I’m not leaving again. You know, in the sense that—I mean, I gotta get back to New York and you have school, but you and me, we’re—”

It’s rare for him to ramble like this. About something like this.

Rory swallows the rest of his words in a chaste kiss, pressing her lips to his and gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. In the back of her mind, she knows they ought to be more careful of the prying eyes—her mother’s eyes, even—but she can’t bring herself to care right now. Gently, Rory pulls back a bit, resting her forehead against his as they breathe in tandem.

They stop swaying, and she pulls him into a warm hug, one arm slung around his waist and the other running a path up his back. All around them, the couples continue to dance, the lights twinkle above them. In the distance, she can hear the din of celebration and merriment. It’s the strangest, kooked-up town event, but Rory’s having one of those moments. When everything settles into place.

“I want it. You. Everything,” she says, feeling a wonderful sense of calm. Jess smiles down at her, a mirror image. As if the calm has reached inside him too. _Huh_ , she thinks, _maybe Liz is on to something._

They spend the rest of the evening together, having a coffee night cap at Luke’s in the wee hours of the morning. And when he walks her home and kisses her again, it feels right. Rory tip toes back into the house and sees her mother waiting for her on the couch, a bright, silly expression on her face. Her night with Luke must’ve gone well, she surmises.

“I have so much to tell you,” Lorelai says with a smile.

“Me too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *abnormally long chapter, upped the rating too. thanks for reading!

Jess is starting to panic.

It’s been over two months since Liz’ wedding, since he and Rory struck up a fragile though determined start at a new relationship. It hadn’t been easy; they both sat through Luke and Lorelai’s attempts at clarification, and much of _that_ consisted of handholding and assuring the older no one was getting pregnant, no one was quitting school, and no one was running off to lead a pathetic, nomadic existence. Jess shouldered the skepticism from his uncle, but he knew better than anyone else how cautiously supportive Luke was about the whole thing. Lorelai, on the other hand, had her doubts. And she voiced them regularly. Over another weekend back at Stars Hollow, one pointed comment proved too much and he’d responded with something sharp. He could take the harsh eyes, the concern over the past, but Jess resented the woman figuring he was seventeen again, plotting his next petty crime or attempting to drag Rory down a life of debauchery. Their last date had been pizza and the newest Ken Burns’ documentary, for god’s sake.

Rory stepped in and took her mother down a peg, then grabbed a bag and stayed at the apartment above Luke’s for the night. The next morning, the Gilmore girls had it out. Jess simply leaned in bed against the wall, carefully watching Rory on the phone defend their relationship to her mother for the last time. “You need to let go of this grudge, Mom. He and I both made mistakes before, you need to let us figure out how to move forward from that. It’s worth it to me— _he_ is worth it. That should be enough for you.” Jess’ ears felt hot at the open admission. He reached over and squeezed her hand—whether the contact was for him or Rory, he couldn’t say.

When Lorelai sat down at the counter later that day, and he topped off her mug with coffee, they exchanged stiff smiles and reached a truce of sorts.

“I’m sorry. I know I overstep. And I know it hurts Rory and Luke…and you.” Lorelai’s mouth settled in a grim line, her eyes apologetic.

Jess felt the sharp line of his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. He busied his hands with a stray dishcloth. “I don’t want to hurt her ever again,” he said quietly. There was no promise there; he knew his history. He would work hard to not repeat those same mistakes though. “I love her.” When he peered up, Lorelai was nodding. “Maybe that’s a start for you and me,” he managed. “Something we share; loving Rory.”

And with that, the conversation ended. Rory shuffled closer from behind the counter with her newly procured muffin and squeezed his hip on her way to her mother. She kissed Lorelai on the cheek and smiled. “Now that wasn’t so hard was it,” she said smugly.

From there, Jess and Rory settled into the beginning stages of their own thing. Nothing quite so dramatic as chases through the town square, or sheltered and fraught as their teenage romance had been, but real all the same. They spoke on the phone regularly, set aside time for actual dates, and alternated weekends between New Haven and New York. Jess visited Rory at Yale most Saturdays after work. She finally made good on that classic collegiate tour, pointing out the university library, the social science building—hell, even her favorite reading trees in the quad. It made him happy, to see how she _fit_ here. Among the dramatic foliage and the frenzied students, Rory seemed at ease. On the verge of something great. She’d always been bigger than Stars Hollow.

It set his teeth on edge too, though. Made his fingers itch. The weight of the endless gothic buildings felt somewhat stifling, and not for the first time, Jess wonders just what kind of environment suits him. It definitely hadn’t been Stars Hollow. It wasn’t some college campus either. The visits made him restless, not exactly eager but curious to think about his own future.

He finally quit his job as a messenger; the hours were long and the pay was crap. Jess was no stranger to working shitty jobs for a paycheck, but after one too many encounters with sketchy folks while on the clock, he’d had enough. Thankfully, he already secured a new position at the bookstore on Fulton. He spent so much time there anyway, often curled up in one of the armchairs or sifting through the stacks like a madman. One day, the manager simply tossed him an application, apropos of nothing.

Rory teased him about the serendipitous nature of it all, gushing that it was the perfect job for someone as well read as Jess, and she was already wheedling him for the perks of an employee discount. Between this new gig and his shifts bartending at The Wayland—all hush hush since technically, he wouldn’t be twenty-one for another six months—Jess was able to save up. He’d sent a check to Luke recently, to pay him back for helping with car repairs, and while he had a sneaking suspicion his uncle would never actually cash the damn thing, it still felt good to repay a good gesture.

After a few months of steady work, Jess was also able to move out of his current shithole and into a place that wasn’t shared among four adult men. At the end of May, Rory helped him pack up his few possessions—a couple boxes of books and whatever clothes he owned shoved into garbage bags—and move them into a shoebox-sized studio in Greenwich. They’d been quick about it; Jess was sheepish and didn’t want Rory spending much time at his old place. One of his ex-roommates, Todd?, actually tried to hit on her before a drug run. Jess nearly tripped over his own feet to get them out of there.

Then, it was just them at his new place. Jess felt how distractingly sweet and strangely domestic it was—watching Rory flit around his apartment, clad in sleep shorts and an old band tee of his, stacking dinnerware in the kitchen cabinets and alphabetizing takeout menus. They sat cross legged on the floor that night, sharing a beer and arguing over how best to organize his books and records.

“By genre,” Jess insisted.

“What? By author and artist, you freak,” Rory responded.

In the end, Rory’s system won out. Now, an entire corner of his apartment was packed with neatly catalogued first editions, beat up paperbacks, CDs, and LPs. Jess could see the great care with which she handled the older records, gently placing a weathered Bowie vinyl on the shelf. _Ziggy Stardust._ Jimmy had slipped that in Jess’ duffle bag his last day in California. He suddenly mentioned this to Rory, tone seemingly unaffected as they continued to thumb through his collection. He described a room back in Venice Beach—an office filled to the brim with every book, CD, and record known to man. Photographs of Jimmy’s travels hung on the wall. A rusted phonograph in the corner. An ancient typewriter at the desk. It was shocking, he said, to see such a tangible part of himself in this stranger of an absent father.

Rory listened patiently, silently reaching over after and gently cupping his face. She placed the beer bottle aside with her other hand, then carefully climbed into Jess’ lap, kissing him until he was dizzy. She tasted like citrus and hops. His hands roved up her back and he took a shaky breath. This was real, he reminded himself.

And so he was beginning to panic. He’d never had a good thing for very long, despite his best efforts. Jess was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

* * *

Rory is starting to panic.

It’s been over two months since Liz’s wedding. And since then, it had been a whirlwind of Jess, schoolwork, and family obligations. Mom and Sookie were working tirelessly to get ready for the Dragonfly’s opening, and Rory’s never seen Lorelai spread so thin. She makes it a habit to visit Stars Hollow when she can, dropping off coffee and donuts at the worksite and letting her mother vent away her nerves before the big day. It hasn’t been easy; between the new business venture and the residual bullshit of Jason’s lawsuit against Richard, Lorelai needs a break.

Luke has been a shining lifeline in all this, Rory knows. He and her mother started something special the night of Liz’s wedding, and he’s been there every step of the way to ensure things ran smoothly at the new inn. The last time Rory visited, she ran into Luke and watched amusedly as he bickered with Tom over bannister dimensions, before she quietly returned to the guestbook and double-checked every reservation.

Halfway through her work, Rory caught the tail end of Dean and Lindsay in a tense argument, his low, garbled admonishments mixing with his wife’s hushed, exhausted tone. This was not a new thing. Not by a longshot, according to Lorelai’s latest gossip. The Foresters’ early nuptials hadn’t been as auspicious as the town hoped. Most days, you could hear them yelling from the window of their new place on Peach. Rory passed by Dean later on her way out, took in his hunched posture and the bags beneath his eyes, and sent him an awkward though encouraging smile. He waved back halfheartedly. She still didn’t know how to navigate this friendship. _Was it even a friendship_ , she wondered. Thinks back to Luke telling her not to attend the wedding, or her disastrous run-in with Lindsay at Doose’s after hearing Dean was planning to drop his college courses. Rory grimaced; it wasn’t her place anymore. And really, Dean had bigger fish to fry at the moment. He didn’t need an ex-girlfriend butting in with relationship advice.

And so, as Rory juggled responsibilities back at home with the last few dregs of classes and finals at Yale, she found Jess to be the greatest calming presence in what felt like a maelstrom of chaos. She could never put it into words for Lorelai or Lane, but there was something so satisfying and worthwhile about watching him grow. He moved past his teenage devil-may-care days, marked by tense silence and turbulent anger at the world, and grew into someone self-assured and steady. It felt somehow familiar and altogether new to witness this stage in Jess’ life. He traversed it with fumbling grace and dark humor—and yes, the occasional kneejerk fatalist approach. But he seemed lighter these days, often reaching over to thread his fingers with Rory’s, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. It was effortless and comfortable. It was love.

Now, it’s her last day on campus, and Rory is starting to panic. She’s been waiting for something to happen. But actually, it already had, in a sense. The last few weeks, she wracked her brain on how to spend her summer. She could easily bum around Stars Hollow, volunteering at the summer festival or book drive for extra cash. Grandma had also asked Rory to join her on a trip to Europe, but it was clear that that was more for Emily than anyone else. She was itching to run away from her problems with Richard. None of it felt right. Thankfully, Rory finally heard back from one of her feelers last week, a (paid!) internship at an online zine based in Brooklyn. She got the gig, a position to shadow and perhaps work closely with their weekend columnist concerning art and literature. And while it would probably be a glorified coffee-getter and mail-sorter type of deal, Rory was still ecstatic. It was a chance.

She hasn’t told Jess yet though, not wanting to disrupt his new schedule or make it seem like she was just trying to shack up with her boyfriend for the summer. He drives out to New Haven that evening, meeting up with Rory after her last final, and strolling through campus as the sun sets. They round the lake behind the Hillhouse building, and Rory suddenly smiles mischievously, reaching for a lighthearted moment before the more serious conversation they’ll have later.

She nudges his shoulder, gesturing to the gaggle of geese and ducks by the water’s edge. “You’re lucky.”

He tightens his hold around her waist at the jostling and quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “Hm?”

“No swans here. You don’t have to worry.”

Jess’ face goes ashen, but the tips of his ears burn scarlet. “How did you—” he chokes out.

Rory shrugs. “Luke.”

“He’s dead,” Jess mutters.

Leaning up and pecking his cheek, Rory smiles serenely. “It must’ve been _so_ traumatic. Not very many people get beaked by a swan and live to tell the tale.” He squawks indignantly, and she runs off in the other direction before he can catch her.

“You were never supposed to know!” he yells desperately, against the backdrop of Rory’s laughter.

Back in the quiet of her dorm, she and Jess sidestep the towers of packed boxes, a small lamp in the common room illuminating their way. The place is empty; Janet and Tanna already moved out, and Paris had run off to Asher’s lake house yesterday. (When Rory revealed to Jess Paris’ sordid affair with a member of the faculty, he simply wrinkled his nose at the mental image. “Gross.”)

Jess is still grumbling about murderous birds when Rory drums up the courage. Turning, she pins him with a determined look. Her solution-oriented face. He’s immediately on high alert. “What is it?”

She opts for casual—and in hindsight, it’s the wrong approach. Casual, easy breezy cover girl is not something Rory Gilmore can pull off. Still, she calmly mentions the position in Brooklyn, hints that they’ll be in the same city for the time being, and maybe it would make sense to cohabitate for the summer.

“The pay’s not great,” she adds, “but I could definitely help with rent. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to mooch off you or anything. I could pitch in with groceries, too. Um, you’d probably have to … _cook_ the food but. We could switch off cleaning days, too, maybe make a chores schedule, color-code it you know…” Her rambling is cut off by a flurry of motion.

Jess quickly tugs at Rory’s cardigan and wraps her in a bruising kiss right there in her dingy, empty dorm, pulling away only slightly to grace her with a megawatt smile. “That’s really great, Rory.” He’s proud of her, she realizes. She smiles in return, feels a weight lift from her shoulders.

“So…yes? We’ll be together this summer?” Rory rests her arms around his neck.

“Yes. And we’ll move your ten thousand boxes into my tiny apartment tomorrow if you want.” And that’s all there is to say. Jess kisses her again, blindly leading them towards her room and slipping a hand beneath her shirt. His warm palm splays across her lower back, tracing up to curl around her neck and deepen the kiss. When the backs of Rory’s knees hit her bed frame, she’s already tugging at his pants, nimble fingers undoing his belt with impressive speed. Jess’ groan is cut off by a loud knock at the door.

They both part, looking up in confusion. Nearly everyone’s gone home, the campus is a damn ghost town, who could be here so late? As Rory rises to answer the door, Jess adjusts his belt and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Fueled by annoyance, Rory throws open the door with slightly more force than necessary and is met with Dean, his hulking form taking up nearly all the space of the doorway as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

He offers a brief smile at the sight of her. “Surprise.”

Rory cocks her head, eyes wide. “Dean. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” She knows he can’t see Jess standing a foot behind her, silently listening.

Dean’s eyes are far off as he scuffs the toe of his work boot at the vinyl floor. “Yeah, yeah. I just—your mom mentioned you finished your classes today and I thought you might need some help moving your stuff back home?” His voice lifts at the end, a bright, frenetic look on his face now.

It makes Rory nervous for some reason, and she takes a small step backwards. “You’re here to help me move,” she says slowly, “on a Thursday night?” She folds into herself, cringing, wondering how best to escape this situation, when Jess sidles up to Rory and opens the door slightly more ajar. He hooks a finger into one of the belt loops at the small of her back, a grounding presence.

“Everything okay here?” he asks quietly, not once looking Dean’s way.

Dean’s mouth settles into a frown. He knew Jess had been back in Stars Hollow for his mother’s wedding but he had no idea he and Rory were in touch. Certainly not to the extent that he’d be hanging out at her dorm. Dean puffs up his chest on instinct. “What are you doing here?” he asks before he can stop himself. The accusation is clear in his voice.

Rory winces, feeling that familiar prickle of tension from their teenage days. Unknowingly, she leans into Jess’ side, peers up at him but can’t decipher his expression. Jess doesn’t look likely to volunteer any information, so she clears her throat and speaks instead. “Jess is going to help me move Dean. I’m not going back to Stars Hollow this summer. I’ll be in New York,” she says with forced ease. “So I appreciate this, I do, but I’m good. I’m sorry you drove all the way here.” She manages to keep her voice even, tone genial but final. 

She can feel Jess’ breath settle, but she suspects he’s holding himself back. The line of his body is taut beside her, as if anticipating something. But he remains still, and Rory wonders if this is part of the new and improved Jess—the one who doesn’t punch first and ask questions later.

Dean watches the two of them closely, notes how their sides are pressed together with easy intimacy, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He works to keep the bile from creeping up his throat. He feels foolish all of a sudden; he thought Rory had finally moved on and realized she was better off without someone as screwed up as Jess. He forces his shoulders to relax.

“Look,” he says stiffly. “Can I talk to you, Rory? Alone?” he adds pointedly. He expects Jess to interject with some snark or a more straightforward ‘Fuck off,’ but he simply exchanges a look with Rory and shrugs.

“I’ll be here,” he says quietly, and Rory nods in response.

Dean doesn’t miss the way their hands briefly interlock before Rory steps out into the corridor and shuts the door behind them. They silently walk to a nearby bench and sit, Dean leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“What’s going on, Dean?” Rory asks after a moment. “You look like crap,” she adds. Huh, maybe Jess’ bluntness has rubbed off on her.

“I look how I feel,” he answers with a sigh, dejection clear in his voice. “It’s not working with Lindsay,” he admits. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, we’re barely twenty and married? She wants all these things—nice things, so she can feel like we’re playing house or something. I’m working as much as I can but…I can’t do it anymore. I come home and it’s like, we can’t bear to look at each other, let alone talk to each other.”

Rory listens patiently, swallowing the urge to tell him ‘I told you so.’ It would be unkind. But she saw this coming the moment Dean told her his plans to propose. She knew Dean wanted a life like his parents—something traditional and settled—but it was never going to be easy. Instead of voicing these thoughts, Rory simply offers a gentle and sympathetic smile.

“What do you want to do?”

“I’m going to ask for a divorce,” Dean manages, the words tasting like failure on his lips.

Rory nods absently. Divorced at twenty, she can’t imagine it.

Dean suddenly leans forward, gaze imploring. “I’m leaving Lindsay,” he says almost urgently. He eyes Rory like a lifeline, and her chest seizes.

She moves back, brows furrowed. “We can’t,” she chokes out, darting from the bench altogether as he tries to place a halting hand on her thigh. It would be so easy, she thinks. Dean is safe and secure and stable—all the things she felt while growing up in Stars Hollow. But her heart isn’t in it. It would be too much like moving backwards. She watches him through narrowed eyes, sees him lean forward again and breathe roughly through his nose.

“We _can_ ,” he grits out, determined. “We can do whatever you want. I’m here now. I know… I messed up before, but I can be there for you now. Just say the word.” Dean rises quickly and clutches her clammy hands in his.

Rory is already shaking her head. _This is all wrong_ , she thinks. “I don’t want this,” she grounds out, tone insistent. “We weren’t good together Dean. Not in the end,” she says gentler this time, squeezing his hands once before putting much needed space between them. “You wanted things—you expected things—I could never give you. And it’s not fair for either of us to compromise.”

“It’s because of _him_ , isn’t it?” he spits, eyes hard.

Rory tries not to bristle, but they’re not kids anymore, and this conversation is getting old. “It’s the both of us,” she says. “Jess and I…we’re making it work. _That’s_ what I want, and I’m sorry but that’s all you get to know. Maybe—maybe we can be friends again, when you’re in a better place,” she adds, though the words sound hollow to her ears. “But right now, I think you better leave. There’s nothing for you here.”

Dean remains silent. Rory sends him one last look before making her way back to her dorm. Back to Jess.

He swallows roughly, fishes his phone from his pants pocket, and dials his wife’s number. “Lindsay,” he says brokenly.

Her greeting is cautious on the other line.

“I’m on way home now. When I get back, we really need to talk.”

Rory enters her dorm with stiff steps and shaking hands. Her mind is frazzled, her heart a mix of sympathy and frustration. She finds Jess in an armchair by the corner of the common room, a maze of boxes at his feet, and a battered copy of _The Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath_ in his lap.

He looks up at the sound of her footsteps and raises his lips in a half smile. “Never a dull moment, huh?” His tone is light but he watches her carefully, eyes a warm amber as moonlight filters through the window.

Rory breathes out a tired chuckle.

“Everything okay?”

She forgoes an immediate explanation and simply steps into his space, positioning herself in the V of his splayed legs and gingerly sitting in his lap. Jess’ arms automatically circle her waist as she presses her forehead to his temple. He waits for her to speak.

“It is now,” Rory whispers. He knows he’ll get the full story later, got the gist of it from his view by the window, occasionally glancing at her and Dean’s tense exchange. For now though, this is enough. Rory leans her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes, luxuriating in his low voice as he reads the beginning verse of “Lady Lazarus.”

* * *

“You look happy,” Jess says through a smile.

They’re in his apartment this balmy June day. The sun is sinking into the cityscape and sending plumes of peach and periwinkle across the sky, flooding his place with hazy light. Jess is cooking pasta and sauce, has a tray of garlic bread in the broiler. He’s got a dishrag slung over his shoulder, a stray pencil behind his ear to adjust his crumpled and stained recipe. _Cut back on the oregano, add cumin,_ he’d scribbled out earlier.

Rory is perched on the kitchen counter, thumbing through her notes for next weekend’s column, an introspective on the latest release of the Pixies’ best hits album. She glances up at Jess, an easy smile on her face at his observation. “I am. I like it here,” she say with a shrug. “I like it at Yale and back home too,” she’s quick to add, “but sometimes…” Rory trails off, her eyes suddenly conflicted.

“What?” Jess abandons the bubbling pot and stands before Rory, bracing his hands on either side of her hips, palms leaning against the formica counter.

She averts her gaze, chewing on her lip. Reaches down and fiddles with the hem of Jess’ Waylands t-shirt. He still hasn’t changed from his work clothes. But the look suits him. A dark, faded tee and a black strap at his wrist. His hair isn’t quite as crazy these days, still curling every which way but settling behind his ears prettily. His face has filled out some since the first time they ran into each other again at the Firelight Festival. They’ve been eating better these days. She refocuses her attention on the conversation when he leans over and kisses her cheek. She gets like this sometimes, he knows. Quiet and contemplative, burdened, her sparkling blue eyes more guarded than usual. It sets Jess on edge. They don’t know everything about each other.

“I get restless,” she finally confesses. She seems unwilling to explain further.

Jess nods softly, turns back to shut off the stove and reaches up for a mug to pour coffee into. He takes Rory’s hand in his and leads her out to the fire escape. She follows easily, and they settle beside each other against the cool iron, watching the sky grow darker and listening to the distant sounds of the city. Rory sips her coffee and after a while:

“You know, before you moved to Stars Hollow, my mother was engaged. To my English teacher, Max. A good guy.”

Jess cocks his head. He hadn’t known, Luke had never mentioned. Though it makes sense, his uncle must’ve jumped for joy when that fell through. He dips his head in acknowledgment then, gesturing for her to continue.

“Everything was ready. I mean my mom had picked out the dress, Sookie was making this ridiculous cake, we even had a bachelorette party at a drag club in Hartford. My grandma actually ordered a drink from some big guy dressed as Mae West.”

Jess can’t help but snort. “I would’ve paid to see that.”

Rory smiles in response, but it’s cracked at the edges. “And then one night, she just called it off. Said it wasn’t right. And she and I ended up taking this impromptu road trip through Massachusetts and New Hampshire. We stayed at this horrible bed & breakfast and even took a tour of the Harvard campus.” Her gaze is far off.

Jess softly nudges her shoulder with his. “Sounds fun.”

“It was,” she murmurs. “But the whole time we were Thelma and Louise’ing it, all I could think was _‘this is wrong,’_ you know? There was this giant shift. My mom could’ve had this life, she could’ve married a guy who loved her, Max would’ve moved to Stars Hollow, the three of us could’ve been a family. It was all ready— _I_ was ready. And she ran. No second guessing, no regrets. She just woke up one morning and decided it wasn’t her.” Rory’s tone is as exasperated as it is wondrous. She looks down at the mug nestled between her shaking hands. “I was jealous,” she whispers. “I never get to run. I’m not supposed to do that. Chilton, Yale, international journalism. The course has been charted. But, I don’t know…lately…” She swallows, chancing a look at Jess.

He peers back at her steadily, expression neutral. “Is that what you’re doing here? Running?” There’s no judgment in his voice.

Rory shakes her head. _It’s not like that,_ she thinks. “It doesn’t feel like I’m running from something when I’m with you,” she begins. “It’s like I can see clearer, breathe easier. But sometimes I wonder, maybe you and I are made up of the same stuff. Because this urge to bolt,” she turns to him sharply, stunning blue eyes pinning him in his spot. “I can taste it sometimes. Is it like that for you?” she wonders aloud.

Jess swallows. Considers Rory’s words. Were they alike in that sense? He used to think so. Thought he recognized the furtive way she would watch him, how she toed the line between a charmed existence and bucking expectations. Maybe he was the first to point out to Rory that a predestined life isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. (After all, everyone expected Jess to end up on the streets or in juvie, and while he scoffed at it, he also carried that disappointment every step of the way. The harsh glances, the lack of support, it stuck to the insides of his ribs like some sickly thing.) Maybe he made her question if it was her dream or someone else’s. He knew the moment he looked at her bookshelf, to be honest. No one relied that much on fantastic stories without wanting to pull a disappearing act of their own. So maybe that’s what they did in their own way. A late night drive, a surprise trip to New York, a secret kiss at a wedding. Disappearing acts, acts of rebellion. Attempts to live a different life in a different world together.

Jess closes his eyes for a moment. “Maybe so,” he says quietly.

“You’re always so sure, even when you were younger. You wanted a different life, you’d go anywhere to get it. You didn’t do it the right way, but I don’t think you regret going to California.”

“I don’t,” Jess replies easily.

He can never go back and fix the way he left. The lack of explanation or proper goodbye still hurts her. Hurts him. But the trip was necessary. It may have started off in a fit of desperation—what with his anger over Jimmy’s failed visit and unceremoniously dropping out of school—but Jess was always going to leave. New York wasn’t exactly home anymore; it had been too long and he couldn’t avoid Liz or couch surf forever. And Stars Hollow… _that half mile, four-block freakhole of a medical experiment_ , he thinks darkly. He’d outgrown that town, if he’d ever grown comfortable there at all.

He thinks of those days in Venice Beach, and later, those nights on the road, traversing the country and staying in crappy motels or watching people filter in and out of those wide open places. It was as charming as it was isolating. He’s got a small notebook filled with his thoughts from those days. The words seemed to crawl out his chest, struggling to break free when everything seemed hopeless. It was a kind of healing, he later realized. Writing.

“I needed to go,” Jess murmurs. “And come back too, I guess.”

Rory nods, she expected as much.

“But it’s not a one-and-done kind of thing,” he adds. “It wasn’t for me, and it won’t be for you. When the urge hits, sometimes you run with it. Lean into the chaos and clutch it with both hands. But you have this great thing going on at school, this whole life ahead of you. The opportunity will present itself at the right time.”

“And when it does?”

Jess smiles. “You jump.”

Rory flushes, her eyes oddly bright. She’s thankful for his words. Feels the way they wrap around her comfortingly, strewn about like some glowing strand of twinkle lights. How could Jess ever scoff at poetry, she thinks absently. Give him the right stage, and he was crafting lyrical prose as pretty as the classics.

“I wish I could’ve been there though,” Rory says lowly, picturing Jess out west and all along his trip back east. Rationally, it was impossible. She’d left for Europe the second the diploma was placed in her hands, and she went straight from that trip to readying herself for Yale. But still.

Jess is smiling, but his eyes are now tinged with sadness. “I would’ve like that.” He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, running his thumb along her jawline and pulling her into a soft, close-mouthed kiss. He feels like crying all of a sudden. “I wish,” he starts.

“What?” she asks, thumping her forehead against his. Like this, it feels like the world is theirs for the taking. Nothing else exists, time and space abate, and it’s just them, suspended on a fire escape and facing the horizon. Rory thinks back to that passage from _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ , where Francie grabs a book, fixes herself a plate of strawberry wafers, and heads out to her own fire escape. Her place there was like a place among that sturdy tree that sprouts from the concrete of the tenement housing neighborhood. A tree of heaven. It was solid and marvelous and full of potential. That’s Rory and Jess right now, standing at the precipice, hand in hand, matching smiles and all.

He swallows. “I wish I had met you before. At the beginning.”

Rory leans back slightly, a quizzical smile on her lips. _At the beginning of what,_ she wonders.

 _Of everything,_ Jess seems to answer. “I could’ve used you in the early days,” he says with a little shrug, eyes shiny.

Rory’s chest cracks at the admission, at the knowledge that he too felt it. That sudden, seizing desire to have met earlier in their lives, the queer feeling that they’d somehow known each other before ever setting eyes on the other. Before uttering a word. A deep, kindred type of love. Eavan Boland said it best; _I would know you anywhere._

She feels the weight of it squeeze all the air from her lungs, takes a shaky breath to steady herself. “I love you,” Rory breathes out, the words feeling like exaltation as they pass her lips. In a moment, her brain catches up with her mouth and she blanches. “I—I just thought you should know,” she tries to explain. “I’m not running, I love you.”

Jess’ answering expression is something to be revered, Rory thinks. His features run slack before twisting in wonder. Dark eyes speckled with burning gold embers and soft mouth pulled up in a stunning grin. A look so intense she feels naked, stripped to her bones, exposed in every way that matters. He reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing it tightly before pulling her up and back into the apartment. When he clicks the window shut, Jess whirls around and cradles Rory’s face in his calloused hands. He kisses her slowly, thoroughly. Kisses like he’s a dying man and wants to memorize the look and feel of her on this, his last day on earth. Rory responds in kind, licking into his mouth and slipping a hand into his back pocket, pulling him roughly against her and slotting their hips together. The grind is instinctual and immediately gratifying, a wet heat emanating from every point of connection. Rory runs a cool hand beneath the hem of his shirt and upwards, curling around his ribcage before bunching the fabric in a fist.

“Off,” she demands quietly inbetween kisses.

Jess easily complies, ripping the stupid thing off before slipping his own hands up her shirt and deftly unhooking her bra. She breathes a laugh against his lips when it gets caught in one of her sleeves and they briefly untangle, staring at each other dumbly before ridding themselves of all articles of clothing. Jess is assaulted with planes of smooth, soft skin and his brain short circuits. _It’s really for the best_ , he thinks distractedly. No clothes, never clothes, this is an anti-clothes household, he decides right then and there.

They’ve yet to be completely bare with each other, the farthest they’ve gone is hot and heavy petting sessions with minimal clothing, but _this_. Jess swallows, wills his body to not disappoint him tonight. He’s thought about this moment more than he’d like to admit, wants to make it good for Rory, wants to override that awful night at Kyle’s party an eternity ago. To her credit, Rory seems surprisingly calm, the only hint of her anticipation the pretty flush that seems to run the entire length of her body, splotches of scarlet against cream. She takes a step forward, reaching out to trace her fingers along his abdomen and up his chest, finally resting a palm over this thundering heart.

Words fail her. “Hi,” she says quietly.

“Hi,” Jess answers, leaning down and placing a kiss and laving tongue at her pulse point, behind her ear, at her jaw, and finally, open-mouthed at her lips. He shifts a leg between her thighs and presses forward with intent, catching her low whimper with his lips again. He would give anything to hear that sound every day.

“I love you,” he reminds her as they fall onto his bed. Says it again and again that night, as he braces himself on top, rests his forearms on the creaky mattress, and slips inside her. There’s a pinch of resistance and then indescribable, blind, numbing heat. It engulfs the both of them, chokes the air from between their bodies and peters off into soft rocking and whispered encouragements. It’s not long before Jess licks his fingers and brings a hand to where they’re connected, using his other arm to bend her leg higher, adjusting the position by wrapping her calf against his backside. Rory anchors herself by draping arms around his neck, urges him forward with her legs, and he grounds into her. She finally cries out, twisting up and shoving her face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Tries to catch her breath as Jess follows, hips snapping erratically before he circles an arm under her back and vaults them higher on the bed, a drawn out moan catching in his throat.

The aftermath is sweeter, more sure. All tangled limbs and soft breathing. It’s a humbling experience, they both decide. To share something without guilt, without expectation. Just pure, unadulterated love. Rory absently runs a hand across his torso, her fingers threading through the smattering of hairs at his lower belly before she rests a palm there. _This is real_ , she thinks.

“I love you,” she says for the second time today. Releases the words into the buzzing ether of a New York twilight. It charges the space around them, like some perplexing current, and Jess simply smiles. Allows himself to feel it, and notes any residual panic drifting away. He curls his body around Rory’s like a warm embrace and offers a matching affirmation. They sleep soundly that night, in their own tree of heaven.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *in a post-thanksgiving haze and i had some time...be warned all convos are acts of self-indulgence on my part

Jess wakes to warmth and light; Rory’s body fit snugly against his side, her breath ghosting along his neck, and soft peach hues streaming in through his window. He blinks rapidly, glances down at her serene expression, mouth slightly agape in deep sleep. She unconsciously smooths a hand across the small of his back and it sends a pleasant thrill down Jess’ spine. Wakes him up as disorientation settles in. The thing is, they’ve slept together before. Gone to bed at night and woken up a tangled mess of limbs. But now…there’s a greater intimacy here, and it makes Jess’ chest ache with something tender.

He wouldn’t go so far as to think that sex changes people all that much. Doesn’t believe it’s such a momentous thing anyway and _definitely_ doesn’t buy into the sexist bullshit usually thrust on the girl’s end of the deal. He’s been with a lot of girls before, felt that momentary satiation and chalked it up to scratching an itch.

But now.

Jess swallows thickly as his gaze roams Rory’s delicate features, follows the graceful line of her neck to the soft swell of her chest and dip at her waist. Last night, he melted into her form like some reverent act, pocketing her _I love you_ for keeps and pushing so deep inside her he never wanted to come up for air. She stirred something in him, thrust her hand in his chest and never eased her grip around his heart. And the crazy thing was, he was grateful for it.

Jess runs a hand over his face, huffing slightly and resisting the urge to roll his eyes. _Geez_. His thoughts have certainly taken a turn for the dramatic lately—he might as well be writing goddamn poetry.

At Jess’ slight jostling, Rory grunts something unintelligible and rolls atop him, burying her face against his shoulder and breathing wetly. Her smooth belly nudges against his groin and he tenses, notes how her splayed thighs tighten in anticipation. Rory raises her head then, eyes blinking open and adjusting to the faint light flooding into the apartment. Jess brushes a hand from her temple to the underside of her jaw, raising his brows at her bleary though sweet disposition. She’s all muted beauty in the early morning, a little blurry around the edges like some shimmering reflection in the water. He tries to squash the halting wave of fondness and want that suddenly overwhelm him.

Rory has no qualms picking up where they left off though, and grinds down on his growing hardness. “Morning,” she whispers with an abashed grin, a pretty flush on her cheeks. Gasping slightly, Jess wraps a hand at her bare hip, stilling her movements. Rory harrumphs and sweeps a palm across his collarbone and against the column of his neck.

“I want you,” she says easily, shocking blue eyes boring into his.

Jess breathes out a nervous chuckle, surprised at her forwardness. He runs his hand from her hip to the curve of her backside, squeezing at the flesh and causing Rory to squeal. As her laughter fills the room, Jess tries to regroup. Focus.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a moment.

Rory cocks her head. “I’m great,” she says sincerely.

“I mean,” Jess tries again, “Are you sore or anything? We don’t have to…right away. It’s okay to take things slow.” The words leave him in stilted bursts, and he can’t decide if he’s saying this for her benefit or his. He knows it was Rory’s first time last night, and doesn’t want her to feel pressured for a repeat the morning after.

But a part of him is scared too.

Having too much of a good thing isn’t par the course for Jess. Expecting more doesn’t sit right with him. Admittedly, the very concept of _more_ is a foreign one; he’d grown up knowing you get what you get and you don’t pitch a fit. He learned early on that Liz would always be stingy with the basics—food, shelter, common sense. It was best not to have expectations. She’d stumbled through his first day of grade school back then, half asleep in a drunken stupor. Forgotten to make dinner most nights. Skipped out on birthdays and holidays. It didn’t take much for a young Jess to put two and two together. _You’re on your own, kid,_ a little voice would often warn. And as a result, he can’t remember a time when he turned to anyone for prolonged affection or reassurance. Jess didn’t _do_ that. Not until Luke or Rory, that is, and even then, his reactions had been clumsy at best and disastrous at worst. He can’t fall back on old habits, though, Jess reminds himself. It wouldn’t do him a lick of good, and it would hurt the people he loved.

Rory pulls him from his thoughts by brushing warm fingertips across his forehead, trying and failing to tame his wild hair. “I’m okay, Jess. Really,” she insists, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Pulling back, she eyes him warily. “Are _you_ okay? I mean, was last night alright or—”

Rory’s expression turns unsure, and Jess has to keep her from hiding behind her hair. “Don’t do that,” he chides softly. “It was good. You and me… _that’s_ always gonna be good, Rory, I promise.”

“Then what are you thinking so hard about?”

Jess smiles wryly. _It’ll never be simple_ , he reasons. Every moment from here on out will be tied to something he has to unlearn from his childhood. It’s exhausting, he thinks, to be wired so poorly inside. “I’m thinking I don’t want to fuck this up,” he admits. “I’m thinking you’re too good for that.”

“Don’t do that,” Rory mimics, face serious.

“What?”

“Make me sound all…” she gestures vaguely. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes.”

“Miss Town Princess?” Jess teases. “I don’t think so.”

Rory twists his nipple between a thumb and forefinger. “Cork it.”

Jess yelps helplessly, voice petering off into low chuckles. “Damn! Alright, I’m sorry. You were saying?”

Rory shifts to Jess’ side, pulling the bed sheet over their bodies and leaning her head against his outstretched arm. She traces a pattern across his chest, soothing over the reddening skin. “I… _fucked up_ ,” she starts, molding her lips around the unfamiliar cuss, “before too. With Dean towards the end, and then with how we started things. Never fully trusting you. I lied to my mom about stuff, I let my grandparents sway me a bit too. There’s a lot actually,” she says with a soft snort. “I’m trying to be better,” Rory adds quietly. “Just like you. We’re both trying, so don’t make me out to be this grand thing. And don’t assume it’s gonna fail either.”

Jess shuts his eyes, considers her words. “You _are_ this grand thing,” he responds easily. “But I see what you mean. I’ll try not to be so doom ‘n gloom about it. And hey,” Jess adds, nudging her hip with his. “I don’t regret how we started things. Do you wish we never kissed at Sookie’s wedding?”

“I don’t wish that,” she says softly, the corner of her mouth lifting in a sardonic smile. “Plus, I don’t think anything could’ve stopped me from kissing you that day. You were standing there, looking at me _so—”_ Rory shakes her head, flushing a deep scarlet before her expression sobers. “But I wish I had done more about it after. Escaping to D.C., not talking to you all summer, and Dean none the wiser…” she trails off, brows furrowed. “Didn’t exactly set the right tone for our relationship.”

“I gave you a hard time after.”

Rory shrugs. “You were right to.”

“I kept stuff from you too.”

She chews on her lip, heart cracking from all the missed opportunities at communication. The unsaid words. “How come you didn’t just break up with me,” she asks quietly. “Before leaving, I mean. Why not cut all ties, start fresh?”

His eyes are pained. “I couldn’t do it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I loved you. And to have the memory of actually ending it…I couldn’t do that.”

“You loved me back then?”

Jess reaches down and tips Rory’s chin skyward, looking her full in the face. He’s not sure what expression he’s wearing, but feels like his heart might drop to his stomach. That kind of vulnerability has to count for something, right? “I think I’ve loved you ever since you called me Dodger,” he says solemnly, tracing his thumb up her jaw.

Rory is charmed but pinches her mouth anyway, shaking her head a little. “Couldn’t have been that early,” she scolds.

“Fine,” Jess concedes. Rests his arm behind his head and hems and haws theatrically. “It was the night you tried to tutor me,” he begins casually. “In the car, when you told me I could do more with my life, and I called you Courtney and asked you where your pom poms were.”

“Be serious!” Rory says with a laugh, slapping his chest.

“I am!” Jess insists. “When someone tells you something different from all the rest…It’s like things shifted into focus, even though I made a mess of it in the end. I knew you believed in me. It felt like love,” he finishes quietly, cheeks reddening at the admission.

Rory’s expression melts into one of such affection, Jess has to avert his gaze, eyes skittering around his apartment instead. He tries to cover up his embarrassment with a cough, wanting to move on, but she murmurs his name and waits patiently for him to turn towards her. He does, shifting his body a bit to curl around Rory. They stare at each other for a moment, the air around them buzzing.

“I think I’ve loved you since the first time I visited you in New York,” she offers, voice a near whisper. “When I found you reading in Washington Square Park.”

Jess smiles at the memory. Bittersweet and glossed in a nostalgic patina. “We’ve loved each other a long time,” he surmises, a bit of wonder seeping into his voice. He never thought he was the kind of person who could love so deeply. He wants to be good at it.

“We have,” Rory agrees, nodding. “So, let’s make good on that love and stop all this dramatic talk. You’re ruining my post-coital glow,” she says primly.

“Is that so,” Jess murmurs with a smirk, allowing the shift in tone and kissing her without hesitation. He wraps an arm around her waist and uses his free hand to palm at her breast, rough fingers delighting in warm, soft skin. Rory responds immediately, moaning into his mouth and blindly reaching down to stroke him tip to base. Once, twice. The movement pulls a grunt from Jess, an exalted hiss escaping his lips when she twists her grip on the upturn. It’s both too much and not enough. Rory kicks the sheet from their bodies and rolls atop once more, straddling his hips and looking down at him with a little grin.

 _Well,_ she seems to ask with glinting eyes.

Jess smiles. “More,” he demands. 

* * *

They spend the rest of the day in bed. Leaving their safe cocoon only to bathe ( _that_ turns into another sex excursion—and a slightly dangerous one at that; they nearly break the soap dish attached to the shower wall) and tip toe to the front door for delivered takeout. They’re coming up for air when Rory mentions the piece she and the column writer are currently working on. Jess slips a Pixies CD into his beat up stereo and scans her notes like some seasoned editor, red pen spinning rhythmically in his fingers.

 _He’s perfect like this_ , Rory notes. All curious smiles and whip smart commentary. She sees him swell in this new environment. This apartment, this city. Much of the tension he’s so used to carrying in his shoulders melts away. Rory’s love for Jess is instantly buoyed. She wants him to live well. She wants to be there to witness it.

The next week is much of the same—more work, more food, more sex. Jess’ job at the bookstore eats away at his time as he gains more trust and responsibility. He sits in on meetings with new publishing houses as they pitch their newest book, he oversees some of the writing workshops taught in back.

One Friday, he’s rushing off for some work event as Rory finishes getting ready for dinner at her grandparents. She’s decided to spend the weekend back home with her mother too, promising Lorelai a Tarantino movie marathon and hordes of junk food. Jess presses his lips to hers on his way out, gripping her backside when she tries to deepen the kiss and bites down on his lower lip.

“You play dirty, Gilmore.”

Rory smiles and waves sweetly at his retreating form. “See you Monday.”

* * *

Her grandmother lets it slip that night. As the maid clears dinner and serves dessert, Emily purses her lips and volleys something scathing to Richard. They’re still on the outs, usually having tense, passive aggressive conversations while Lorelai and Rory play the rapt audience. She’s not quite paying attention now though, but returns her focus as her grandmother exhales a sharp sigh.

“Oh, that’s just like you,” Emily tuts, “giving that boy more chances than he deserves.”

“Christopher is hardly a boy, Emily,” Richard chides. “He’s having a hard go of it, you know that.”

“Serves him right. Leaving Lorelai like he did. Again. And for some flaky tramp—”

“Emily!”

“Well, what do you call a woman who leaves her fiancé and one year old for a job in Paris! I mean, who on earth does a thing like that?”

Rory goes pale and promptly chokes on her custard tart, her dessert fork clanking loudly against the fine china. It’s been a long time since she’s kept up with the goings-on of her father’s personal life. Rory recovers with a light cough, sending thanks to whoever up above that Lorelai missed out on tonight’s dinner. She had last minute plans at the inn; the Dragonfly’s test run opening is next week.

“Rory, dear, don’t listen to your grandmother. Emily, honestly.” Richard’s gaze is sharp.

Emily suddenly loses the fight in her, glancing at Rory with apologetic eyes. “There, there dear. I don’t mean to air his dirty laundry. Miriam! Get the girl a glass of water.”

Clearing her throat, Rory offers her grandparents a slightly pained, lopsided smile. She assures them she’s fine, asks that they not mention this to Lorelai as it might upset her, and bids them goodnight after a tight hug. She walks stiffly to her car, forgetting to stay behind and see if Richard sneaks off to the pool house, and replays Emily’s words in her mind instead. So Sherry’s gone. Rory wraps delicate fingers around her steering wheel, knuckles going white. She knows how this might play out, knows what this could lead to.

She’s a ways out of Hartford when thoughts of the spring leading up to Sookie’s wedding come to her unbidden. How nice it had been to have Christopher back, how happy it made Lorelai, and then the absolute mess he left behind after finding out Sherry was pregnant. The timing couldn’t have been more damning. He and her mother had been so close to their happily-ever-after. Rory had been ready for it, too. Had been waiting since her childhood for her father to finally get it together and be the kind of man worthy of Lorelai. Maybe it was fortuitous that things fell through though; her mother deserved better. In the end, the only one to rise to the occasion was Luke. It had always been Luke.

Rory is taking the next exit before she can stop herself, absentmindedly driving the unfamiliar roads towards Christopher’s house. Sometime during the last year, her father left her a rambling message, mentioning his and Sherry’s new place and leaving an open-ended invitation for Rory to visit. To see her new sister. She never took him up on the offer, but scribbled his address on a scrap of paper anyway and slipped it into her wallet. Memorized the directions one day out of morbid curiosity.

She turns onto his street, messily parks the car, and takes angry steps toward his townhome. Rory knocks twice, two hard, decisive sounds before the door swings open with a creak.

Christopher looks awful. Clad in loose sleep pants and an old Henley, the neck of it warped and threadbare. His hair is shorter, revealing more of his face and dim eyes. It brings her no pleasure to see the haggard lines at his temples, the slight droop of his shoulders. It brings her no pity either. But at seeing his daughter, Christopher’s expression morphs from fatigue to pleasant surprise.

“Rory! What—”

“Dad,” she cuts him off.

Her tone is ice cold, as are her eyes. Christopher swallows roughly, reaches into the recesses of his mind for a time when Rory seemed a stranger to him. Only one such occurrence surfaces: his unannounced visit to Emily and Richard’s after months of ignored calls and unanswered emails from the Gilmore girls. He remembers yelling desperately at Lorelai, remembers Rory stumbling from the dining room with clenched fists and a downturned mouth. She’d been so angry that night. More hurt than he’d ever seen her. _“I’ve got Mom, that’s all I need. Go be someone else’s dad.”_ Her eyes flashed a turbulent cerulean at him before she ran upstairs.

A delicate truce had been struck sometime after, but they’ve barely spoken since the night of Gigi’s birth. Christopher had a lot on his plate, what with a fiancée and newborn baby to take care of. He couldn’t make it to Rory’s graduation. Skipped out on helping her move to Yale.

And now she’s suddenly here.

Christopher grimaces. She looks so much like her mother when upset. And yet, it’s worse, somehow. Where Lorelai spins outward in her most manic moments, Rory is a self-contained storm. All silence and restrained fury. It makes her seem older. More lonely and self-reliant than he’d like to think of his twenty year old daughter.

He extends a hand, as if to pacify or comfort, but she shakes her head.

“Dad, I know Sherry left.”

Christopher jerks at her words, turning towards the empty house save for Gigi’s slumbering form in the nursery. It had taken an eternity to get her to fall asleep. He thinks it’s because his night routine seems foreign to the baby. He’s not her mother, after all.

“She did,” he says simply, expression melting into that of a kicked dog.

Rory is suddenly taken by the softness of her father’s face. She used to wonder about her own features, how they never matched the sharpness of Lorelai’s. The difference felt too great, and Rory often wished she could curb the plumpness of her cheeks, taper the child-like doe eyes. It was a reminder that she hadn’t inherently sprouted from her mother’s existence. She was an amalgamation of Gilmore and Hayden. The thought always twisted her up inside. Made her miss something and hate it at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” she says flatly, wanting to move past the sentimentality of the moment.

Christopher nods. “It’s been hard,” he admits. “I meant to give you and your mom a call, but a lot’s happened. Maybe we can meet up for lunch soon,” he offers with brighter eyes. “The three of us.”

“Please don’t call Mom,” Rory rushes out. “She’s happy now. She has Luke, they’ve got a really good thing going, and she doesn’t need you ruining that.” The words are quick and harsh. Feel foreign on her tongue, but Rory is past caring at this point. She spent so much of her girlhood trying to impress Christopher the few times a year she saw him. Pretty smiles and pretty words. She’s fresh out of those now.

“Rory,” her father stutters. “I would never—I just meant we could get together is all. Family catching up.” Rory wants to laugh. She isn’t sure what her father’s idea of family is—maybe he was doomed from the beginning with parents like Straub and Francine—but it had done little for her so far. “I’m not trying to get back with your mother or disrupt her life,” he continues a little defensively. “She and I go way back though, before…all of _this_ ,” he adds cryptically.

And Rory _really_ doesn’t like that sound of that, doesn’t like the implication that Christopher and Lorelai are somehow tied by fate, struck in the same orbit from here until eternity. His words burn something bitter in her mouth, and her face twists up in consternation.

“Please,” she grits out. “I have never asked you for anything. I know better than to expect something from you,” Rory breathes, more honest with her father than she’s ever been. “Stay away from Mom. Every time you breeze in and out of our lives, it’s like a piece of her withers away. She always gets hurt. She deserves better than that.” _Than you_ , she thinks. Rory offers him one last, hard look and turns away.

Christopher calls out, voice choked. “Rory, wait.”

But she keeps walking. Gets back in her car and drives home to Stars Hollow. After twenty miles or so, she reaches into her open purse, plucks the scrap of paper with Christopher’s address on it and tosses it out the window.

* * *

Rory clicks the door shut as quiet as she can, not wanting to wake Lorelai. But her mother is in the kitchen, defrosting a tin carton of double fudge chocolate cake and offering Rory a smile and a fork at the sound of her entrance.

“Hey, kid. It’s late, good dinner?” she asks.

Rory can only manage a wan smile, turning away from her mother to place her bag in her room. “Yup,” she answers quickly.

Lorelai catches the tail end of her daughter’s wonky expression though, and knits her brows in confusion. “Everything okay, hun?”

Sliding into a chair and reaching for the proffered fork, Rory hums vaguely, peering up at her mother with a more convincing smile. It’s a look she perfected at a young age. The one reserved for times when Rory felt the weight of the world pressing against her hunched form, but didn’t want to worry her mother about it. One of these days, she will have to trace the origin of this need to shield Lorelai from such feelings; is it simply avoidant behavior? Compensating for having a loving though at times frazzled mother? Rory can’t say. For now, she simply nods for added effect, and reassures.

“Everything’s good. How was your day, Mom?”

Lorelai takes the bait. Sighs dramatically before flashing a devious smile. “I think this opening might actually kill Michel,” she starts eagerly, delving into a breakdown of today’s events.

Rory smiles again. Warmer, more genuine this time. She loves her mother. Doesn’t ever want to see her hurt. And while tonight’s actions might really prevent that, Rory can’t help but feel like there’s unfinished business to attend to. Her chest seizes in anticipation. The other shoe has yet to drop.

* * *

The soft opening of the Dragonfly goes smoothly—for the most part. To be fair, it wouldn’t be a Stars Hollow shindig without a few hiccups, Rory thinks, watching her mother hiss through her walkie-talkie at Tom and directing his guys towards paint touch ups and the like.

Rory arrived earlier in the day with Jess in tow. When he questioned why his early presence was necessary—he _was_ a guest after all—she merely fixed him with a withering stare. “For moral support,” she explained.

Jess snorted. “Your mother’s being a pill and you need reinforcements, I get it,” he said as they drove up the I-95 that morning.

Rory tore a corner of her cinnamon bun and chucked it at his head, and that had been the end of the conversation.

They set up shop towards the entry way, manning the front desk while Michel handles more last minute duties. The concierge is happy to leave them to it, taking one look at Jess’ stoic demeanor and tutting.

“Your hooligan beau is ruining my mood,” he says testily, heading for the kitchen.

Jess simply waves at the Frenchman, childishly flapping his fingers up and down in exaggerated farewell. Rory knocks his hip with hers and tries to hide a growing smile.

He spends much of his time helping Rory organize the guestbook, double checking room numbers, and even scribbling out a fair share of greeting cards to be left alongside pillow mints. They catch sight of Dean just then, nodding along to Tom’s directions from across the way. Jess clenches his jaw and looks down at the desk, visibly annoyed. He has to get used to it, he figures. As long as Luke and Rory were tied to this place, he’d have to stomach Stars Hollow’s quirks and irritating townsfolk—including his girlfriend’s twelve-foot ex from hell.

Rory purses her lips and holds her gaze a second longer, Dean’s eyes suddenly meeting hers uncomfortably. They haven’t spoken since that night he came to her dorm. That suits her just fine, to be honest. She knows it will be some time before they can ever interact normally. He hesitantly raises a hand in apology and perhaps a last goodbye. Rory nods solemnly and watches him exit the inn.

Shaking her head, she nudges Jess’ shoulder with her own. “Okay?” she asks quietly.

His lips raise in a half smirk. “All good,” he responds, leaning over and pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

It isn’t long before people start to arrive, ooh’ing and ahh’ing at the state of the inn—the traditional craftsmanship, sprawling flower beds, and idyllic horse stables. Lorelai rushes out to greet them. Takes her place by Rory’s side to personally check in each guest with a smile, a key, and directions to follow their individual handyman and unattached door. Miss Patty is particularly pleased by this, eyeing one of Tom’s crew like a porterhouse steak.

When Luke arrives holding a bouquet of flowers and Lorelai promptly runs face first into his door in a fit of nervousness, things settle down. It’s a beautiful evening, the inn bustling with activity as the sky sinks into shades of pink and blue and everyone gathers in the dining hall for a delicious meal.

Rory and Jess sit at a table tucked away in the corner, watching amusedly at Luke sandwiched between Miss Patty and Babette, both women clad in the Dragonfly’s fluffy yellow bathrobes. At one point, he looks to his nephew desperately, and Jess winks at him. Throws him a sarcastic thumbs up. Luke stares down at his plate and swallows a curse, eagerly looking up with a smile when Lorelai makes the rounds. Everything is going along swimmingly.

That is, until Jason unceremoniously shows up full of apologies and pleas for a second chance.

Lorelai exiles him to the foyer, too upset to deal with this amidst everything else. She shoves him into an armchair like he’s some scolded child, and returns to dinner. Luke works his jaw, glaring daggers at the new guest.

And Rory watches it all unfold, horrified. Lorelai’s worked too hard for this, and tonight will not be marred by her mother’s disgruntled ex, she decides. Turning towards Jess, she urgently whispers, “What are we gonna do, we have to get rid of him!”

 _We?_ is his initial thought but the smarter, more rational part of his brain takes in Rory’s concerned gaze, realizes he owes Luke this much, and quickly concocts a plan. He reaches over and squeezes her hand reassuringly. “I have an idea,” he lowly murmurs before slipping away.

Jess takes a back entrance and steps out into the humid summer evening, easily spotting Jason’s shiny Porsche and unearthing a small swiss army knife from his back pocket. He jogs forward, notes how pristine the car is. Jess hadn’t heard anything terribly offensive about the guy from Rory—other than the obvious; rich, slightly entitled, currently suing his ex-business partner aka Lorelai’s father (talk about a conflict of interests)—but the sight of his sports car automatically earns him a check in the ‘probable douchebag’ category. _Them’s the breaks_ , Jess thinks wryly.

He unfurls the knife and expertly nudges it into the upper then lower crevice of the driver side window, jimmying the blade to slide the glass down a fraction and immediately setting off its security system. The horns blare obnoxiously and Jess casually slips back into the inn, motioning to Rory and subtly tugging at his earlobe.

She grins, delight running down her spine. The horns aren’t so loud that they overpower the current din of conversation and merriment, but it’s enough to get Jason twisting confusedly from his place in the foyer. Rory smooths out her giddy expression and quickly marches towards him. “Is that your car?” she asks worriedly. “We’ve had some scares this summer, you better check,” Rory urges, tone put on.

Jason looks up in alarm and fumbles with his key, stumbling out the door as Rory follows. She reaches the front steps and quickly turns back, azure eyes flashing wickedly at Jess as she swipes a finger under a nose. He snorts. They’re a regular Bonnie & Clyde.

Jason runs out and hurriedly taps at his car remote, doesn’t note the open window and instead rounds his car once, twice to make sure no one’s keyed at the paint or slashed his tires. He’s satisfied with his investigation, chalking up the alarm to a violent rush of wind or the nearby horses kicking up a fuss. Porsches can be awfully sensitive, he reasons. When he looks up, he finds Rory posed harshly before him, a bent arm cocked at her hip, and a serious-looking younger man standing on the wrap around porch, hands clasped behind him casually.

“What—”

“What were you thinking coming here?” Rory cuts in. “You need to leave, Jason. My mom’s moved on, and you need to accept that.”

Jason tries to object, but Rory silences him with a severe look. “My grandparents are just over there,” she says, pointing to the private bungalow a few yards away. “I know my grandfather would love nothing more than to pummel your sorry butt. And my grandmother will probably scratch your eyes out. You know Emily.” Her words sound like a promise. “So, leave. Now.” Lorelai’s daughter is a sight for sore eyes just then; gaze ice cold, small fists clenched, and delicate face a storm. She looks every bit the fearsome Gilmore, and Jason struggles for words. He peers behind her in desperation, eyes darting around for a glimpse of Lorelai, but the young man stands resolute.

Jess inches forward just a touch—his mere presence acting to bolster Rory’s words—and coolly leans against the railing. He watches Jason curiously, throwing on a challenging smirk for good measure. “You heard her,” he calls out. “Off you go.”

Jason reluctantly leaves, shuffling into his car and driving off without a word or second glance. He thinks about the way Lorelai had smiled so warmly at one of tonight’s guests, her hand curled around his shoulder as a look of easy adoration passed between them. He grips at the steering wheel and presses his foot against the accelerator. _No use holding on to something that was never mine_ , he thinks morosely, speeding down a lonely interstate.

* * *

The night ends well enough. No great catastrophes, no more ex-boyfriends. 

After begging off to read for a while on the swinging loveseat outside, Rory and Jess finally crawl upstairs after a long day. They think they catch Luke and Lorelai locked in an intimate embrace by the entry way when a blurred flash of bare skin suddenly runs past.

Rory chokes, doing a double take. “ _Kirk_ , oh my god—” 

Jess’ reaction is immediate, a hand darting up and automatically covering her eyes. “Geez,” he mutters. This entire town is an escaped mental ward, he swears.

Then Kirk is screaming, and Luke is yelling his name and reassuring Lorelai in the same breath.

Rory means to investigate further when Jess circles her wrist and gently tugs her into their room. He shakes his head at her. _Not your problem,_ he seems to say.

“But! He’s a fear biter,” Rory argues with wide eyes. “Shouldn’t we make sure Luke is careful?”

“He’s a big boy, Rory. He can wrangle Kirk just fine. And no way are we getting within ten feet of his bare ass, sorry.”

Rory reluctantly agrees, and the both of them sluggishly get ready for bed, shutting off the lights and settling against the soft duvet and mountain of pillows with a sigh.

Jess shifts his body and curls his form towards Rory. She mirrors his position and they silently stare at each other, like two matching bookends. He takes in the little contented smile playing at her lips, and can’t help mimicking the expression. “Happy?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “You?”

He shrugs. “Not the worst event this town has cooked up.”

Rory laughs. Surges forward and teases a hand up his ribcage. Presses a soft kiss to the juncture where his neck meets his collarbone. “You enjoyed yourself, don’t lie.”

“The slightest bit of petty crime puts an extra pep in my step, what can I say,” Jess hums, pulling her closer and wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

Rory leans into his space and fiddles with the hem of his sleep shirt. “Thanks for being here.”

“Sure thing. Your mom did a good job.”

She smiles. She knows Jess and her mother are on better terms now, though neither would care to admit it. They’re more alike than they realize.

“Sucks about Jason showing up outta the blue though,” he mutters, curling a piece of her hair around his forefinger.

Rory’s mind runs back to Lorelai’s resoluteness at casting Jason away, her exhilarating smile while wrapped around Luke just now. “I think she and Luke will get past it.”

Jess snorts. “Oh, they’ll be fine. Those crazy kids.”

After a moment though, her expression sours. She imagines her father being here in Jason’s place, and her blood runs cold. She still hasn’t told Lorelai about Sherry leaving, and doesn’t suspect her grandparents have either, as they’ve been marooned in the bungalow all night. Her body tenses, and Jess immediately picks up on the shift in atmosphere. He lightly squeezes her shoulder. “Rory?”

“I did something,” she whispers, looking up at him with conflicted eyes.

She tells Jess about that night, about the impromptu visit after finding out her dad’s fiancée left. How she drove out to see him after a year of stilted conversation and basically told him to fuck off and leave her mother alone. How she barely registered her baby sister sleeping in the house, and hadn’t the slightest interest in getting to know her. The guilt and hurt are a palpable thing in Rory’s voice.

Jess listens quietly, and without judgment. He vaguely remembers Christopher from Sookie’s wedding, a tall man with dirty blonde hair and genial features, affectionately pulling Rory into a hug before whisking away on his cellphone. It feels peculiar to suddenly put a face to his name, to the few things Rory has told him about her father. They broached the subject briefly as teenagers, only enough to confirm that dads weren’t a really a thing in their lives.

But more recently, as Jess clumsily opened up about Jimmy, he’d ask Rory specifically about her experience with Christopher. She typically brushed it off, tone overly light and brittle smile plastered to her lips. It was pretty clear that deeper feelings belied her easygoing demeanor. Jess figures that Rory would never willingly badmouth her flaky father, but wouldn’t build any more bridges with him either. Wouldn’t take his brief and unpredictable presence as having any kind of positive influence on her life, and definitely wouldn’t play the doting sibling to his new baby if it meant hurting those in her immediate circle.

(Jess wonders what he’ll do if Liz and TJ have a kid. He hasn’t even considered what it might be like to see his mother have another go at parenting. If it would hurt him to see her do it right this time.)

The knowledge that she actually confronted Christopher surprises him though. It’s another indication that Rory is growing up; her teenage self would’ve balked at diving headfirst into negative feelings—goal oriented or not. Still, the encounter sounds … complicated. Jess has known guys who’ve had a singular thought when it came to women. An unendurable devotion, no matter _how_ twisted it was. He suspects this isn’t the last of Christopher Rory or Lorelai will have to deal with.

He brings a hand to her face and strokes along her jaw. Tells her he’s here to talk if she needs, and also carefully suggests telling Lorelai the truth. These things have a habit of coming into the light, and are all the more messy the more secrets you keep.

Rory chews on her lip, reaches down and interlocks her fingers with his. _It’s never going to be done with_ , she realizes. She can’t fully divorce her father from her life _or_ her mom’s. And it upset her, that Christopher was right. He and Lorelai go way back. Maybe he owes it to her to reach out and be honest and allow her the opportunity to get…what, closure? It sounds like bullshit, but she’s not them. And it’s not like Rory expects her mom to fall into Christopher’s arms. Her and Luke are a new thing but it’s built on history too. She knows there’s love there. She just wishes it could be easier, wishes she wouldn’t have to constantly carry around and rearrange her feelings for her absent father.

“Do you think they were screwed from the get-go?” Rory wonders aloud, soft moonlight filtering into the room and casting an eerie glow on her face.

Jess arches his hand at her jaw, trying to parse out her expression. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, my dad. Your dad.”

“My mom,” he adds quietly.

“They were young.”

“Maybe they were scared,” he allows. “Maybe they only knew how to make mistakes.”

“I guess,” Rory concedes. “You know, I met my dad’s parents one time. My paternal grandparents,” she corrects. “They were awful. It was like Emily and Richard to the tenth degree, there wasn’t a shred of good will or emotion in them. And I remember feeling so sorry for him that night, that he’d grown up that way. All the opportunities in the world and parents who didn’t give a shit.”

Jess smooths his palm down the column of her neck, feeling the thrumming pulse beneath.

She speaks quieter now. “But every time he comes in and out of our lives, I feel less of that sympathy. I put myself in his shoes at that age. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. And it’s like I know. _I know_ , if I had helped make this thing, this entire person, I’d be there. Maybe I wouldn’t do it with as much gravitas as my mom, but still.” Rory looks at him imploringly. Wants him to understand.

Jess stares back at her, a mirror image.

His relationship with Jimmy is still awkward. He left Venice Beach on an okay note, sending postcards or brief letters to his dad from the road. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but it was something. A tenuous connection. But when it came to confronting Jimmy about his eighteen year diaper run, it was like this unending festering wound. No explanation could temper the hurt. No new memories could override that fatal mistake. Jess will always be angry about it, he suspects. Will always regard his father with a bitter edge and wonder what makes a man look his kid plain in the face and decide to leave. Sometimes once when they were a baby. Sometimes time and time again as they grew up.

So he’s had the same thought as Rory. He thinks about the thing they have going on right now. Realistically, no one is getting knocked-up anytime soon, but if it happened, if she fell pregnant tomorrow, he knows, deep in his bones, he could never leave. He might not make a great go at fatherhood, wouldn’t even know where to start considering his background. But leaving? When he thinks of distance from Rory (or from this make-believe child of theirs), there’s a disconnect. Jess can’t fathom it. Some days, he’ll only need to glance in her direction or brush the back of his hand against hers, and the adoration and all-consuming need will leave him breathless. To give that up—for bullshit self-sacrificing reasons or not—seems an impossibility.

It’s that she saw the good in him from the beginning. It’s that she saved him in a lot of ways.

What did Kafka write? _“Left to my own resources, I should have long ago been lost.”_ Not anymore, Jess thinks. He squashes that telltale wave of uncertainty and allows himself to feel optimism in its place. Of course, this is too much to explain.

He swallows past a lump in his throat, and can only manage a quiet, “I know, me too,” to Rory’s line of thought.

She settles deeper into the bed and runs a foot down his calf, tangling their legs together. “How come we know, and they don’t?”

“Maybe something had to happen for us to be so sure. Maybe we don’t start off all good or bad. Sometimes things work out and we make the right decisions, and sometimes—"

“Some people don’t,” she finishes.

They sit with that for a while, suddenly two broken kids in a dark room with faraway thoughts too painful to vocalize.


	7. Chapter 7

Jess is currently out of the city for work, taking a two day pilgrimage to Philadelphia to meet with some no name publishing press. They’d initially offered to stop by Greenlight Books on their next trip to New York, but Jess’ manager suggested he go out and meet with them instead. Talk over their newest works and see if it was a right fit. Jess found it curious, but the trip was on the bookstore’s dime, and he wasn’t one to turn down a little work-related adventure. He spent most of the first day holed up in his hotel room, preparing for his meeting before finally touring the Philly scene in the evening, grabbing some food and picking up a few books and CDs for him and Rory.

Today, as he heads towards Center City West and past Rittenhouse Square, he takes in the sights. Jess always considered Philly a grimy place, but as he delves deeper into the college town atmosphere, he considers its current renaissance. There’s still an edge of inner city grunge, but an interesting energy too. He finds the modest publishing press (a generous take, to be honest; it’s a hole in the wall) at the end of Locust Street. Truncheon is a mix of the old and new, it seems. Housed in a slightly run down, historical building and planked by bohemian cafes, kitschy boutiques, and oddball galleries. _A regular hub of creativity_ , Jess thinks wryly.

He jogs up the steps and pushes past the double doors. The murky madness is what hits him first. The interior is dark; dark cherry wood paneling, darker leather armchairs, and dreary, worn throw blankets tossed here and there to generate some semblance of homey comfort. Stacks of manuscripts line the path from the doorway and weave around the few work desks. Battered posters—a mishmash of event flyers and vintage art and movie advertisements—hang from the walls. And every corner not occupied by manuscripts or secondhand furniture is filled to the brim with books. A young woman stands at the front desk, a large scheduling book outstretched before her and a phone nudged up against her ear. She takes one look at Jess and wordlessly gestures to the back, tosses her thumb towards a side office where two men stand, engaged in a heated discussion.

“Matt! You don’t get free reign on which art pieces we display here,” one of them urgently whispers.

“What’s the big deal?” the other responds easily.

“We can’t just post huge photos of naked women, people are gonna think we’re some smutty art house. Hardly anyone paid attention to the featured speaker last time.”

“ _That_ turned out to be a blessing in disguise, you dolt. That guy sucked big time. We need a better vetting process, I’ll say that much.”

The vein in the first guy’s forehead is visibly throbbing, and the second raises his hand in reluctant apology. “Fine, no more nudes. You _puritan_ ,” he spits.

Jess taps twice on the door frame, raising his eyebrows in droll amusement. “Sorry to interrupt,” he begins in a flat tone. “I’m Jess, from—”

The second man—the proponent of nude art—pushes past his partner in the next breath, expression brightening significantly. “From Greenlight, yes! Sorry, ignore whatever you’ve just heard. Chris here,” he cocks his head, “is being a bit fussy today, isn’t he?” He steps forward and extends his hand. “I’m Matthew. Matt.”

Jess offers his own hand and does a quick once over. The man is young, maybe as young as he is. In many of his previous meetings, Jess had gotten used to dealing with older folks, offering stiff smiles and platitudes to bridge the divide. It was refreshing to meet with a publishing house run by people born after the Reagan era. This Matt’s face is nearly cherubic, ruddy cheeks and bright eyes and long, dirty blonde hair curling past his ears. He’s wearing corduroy pants and…a sweater vest. _Huh_. _An old soul, maybe?_ he thinks amusedly.

The other steps forward then. Taller, lankier, with dark skin and wild hair. Serious eyes. And clad in ripped jeans and a tattered Audioslave t-shirt under his blazer. There’s a steady calm to his demeanor, none of the frustration that was evident just a second ago. He smiles and shakes Jess’ hand, rolling his eyes at his partner’s introduction. “I’m Chris. Don’t listen to him, he’s an idiot. Here, sit, thanks for dropping by.”

The three of them gather round an ancient looking desk, thick planks of oak covered in varnish and a hodgepodge of dents and scrapes. Manuscripts are pushed to one side, a handful of pens crammed into an old mug beside them, and a laptop littered with post-it notes close behind. Jess almost smiles at the organized chaos. He knows it’s not just foolhardy guys and risqué art here though. Jess has done his research, knows their publishing history, sifted through their works. Truncheon has certainly made an impression. 

After another round of more proper introductions, Jess goes into the general vibe of Greenlight, how the bookstore is trying to work with more contemporary authors and independent publishers to build a varied collection. Poetry, scholarly essays, standard fiction and nonfiction works—they’ll take whatever they can get as long as it piques interest. Matt and Chris are impressed with Jess’ steadfastness and breadth of knowledge. He’s obviously tapped into the world of art and literature (a nice change from the majority of twenty somethings caught up in the dot com and app craze) and is annoyingly well read—easily referencing obscure works these two have really only skimmed. Nevertheless, the Truncheon duo make their pitch with a bit of gravitas and practiced ease. Jess would never admit it, but he’s sorta charmed. To encounter likeminded people hasn’t been easy for him. His work at Greenlight opened more doors than he ever thought possible. Pulled him into a world where he could breathe easier. Made him feel closer to Rory in a sense too.

As they dive into a debate over the latest releases from bigger publishers, Jess hides an entertained smile. Matthew is overbearing in a genuine way, spinning soliloquies like some modern day bard, his sheer eccentricity pulling bursts of laughter from Jess. And Chris is a soothing balm, lazing in a chair and offering deadpan commentary and more sensible explanations to Matt’s flowery rants. Jess feels something shift into place, a satisfying kind of acceptance. He’ll go back to Greenlight this weekend with a recommendation for Truncheon’s newest poetry anthology—a spotlight on the younger talent of the city. If the preliminary order sells well, they’ll look into other works from Truncheon.

As Jess wraps things up, Matt blurts out, “You should come work with us.” He’s never had a brain-to-mouth filter, Chris thinks forlornly. Hardly a working frontal lobe, to be quite honest. Chris glances at Jess’ blank expression and internally curses.

“What Matt means to say,” he quickly interjects, “is that we’re always looking for bright new minds here at Truncheon.”

“Me.” Jess’ voice sounds faraway to his own ears.

Matt leans forward. “Absolutely.”

He swallows the urge to snort. “Doing what, exactly?” His leg starts to bounce.

Chris answers first. “Reading through manuscripts. Editing. Helping us figure out which handful to actually publish.”

Jess is already slipping his keys from his back pocket to thread through his fingers, ready to bolt. “Get real,” he says quietly. “I work minimum wage at a bookstore. I didn’t even graduate high school.” _You’ve already scheduled your GED test though_ , a voice reminds him. He hasn’t told Rory yet. Doesn’t want to reveal anything until he follows through.

“Hey, Matt dropped out of UPenn last year. And _I_ think higher education is a scam. We’re in no position to judge,” Chris says genially.

Shaking his head, Jess grabs his beat up paperback and loose-leaf notebook, tucking them under his arm. He stands haltingly, shooting the guys an awkward smile. He works to offer a quick goodbye when Matt surges forward with a manic smile, eyes glued to the scraps of paper peeking from Jess’ notebook, his neat handwriting scribbled every which way.

“What you got there?” he asks excitedly.

Jess’ tongue is thick in his mouth. Clumsy. “Nothing—”

“I knew it!” Matt places a heavy hand on Jess’ shoulder, the sides of his mouth creeping up in a terrifying smile. “Alright, Mr. I’ve-Read-Everything-From-Here-To-Timbuktu, you’re writing something, aren’t you?”

Jess doesn’t immediately shake Matt’s grasp from his shoulder, can’t decide if he’s amused or irritated by how forward this guy is. Before he can answer properly though, Chris angles his body forward, expression pleasantly surprised.

“Penning the next great American novel?” he murmurs. “Hey, we’re in desperate need of new fiction. Care for another set of eyes?”

“What are the two of you _on_?” Jess asks with an incredulous laugh. He can’t wrap his head around this conversation, and reaches for the most ridiculous possibility as a shield. “I mean, this could be really shitty poetry for all you know.”

“You don’t strike me as the baroque poet type, no offense,” Matt says. “Probably more of a…” he taps a finger to his chin, “glass of whiskey at your typewriter guy, no? Gloomy fucker like yourself,” he explains with another smile. His eyes go all moony.

 _Geez,_ Jess thinks. _Am I being wooed?_

Chris can sense this encounter going sideways. He leans back on his heels and shrugs at Jess. Smiles gently. “Hey man, just think about it, okay? We’re serious, you’d be a great fit around here. And as an added bonus, you’d have immediate connections to a publishing house for your first work.”

Matt pipes in. “Philly’s cool too. I mean it’s no New York. None of that domineering brutalist architecture and smell of hot garbage weirdo city folks seem to romanticize, but still.”

Jess hides a smile and rolls his eyes at the dress down of Manhattan, but after a beat, his thoughts drift to loved ones. “I’ve got people back home,” he says vaguely. Not in New York, per se, but close enough. “I can’t just up and leave.” _Not again_.

Matt’s voice goes softer, more sincere. “Well, the offer still stands. Anyway, we really appreciate Greenlight taking our newest anthology, thank you. It was nice to meet you, Jess.”

They shake hands and exchange numbers, then Chris is walking Jess out the door, directing him towards the best interstate to avoid traffic at this hour.

“Don’t be a stranger. If nothing else, we got an inside man in Brooklyn now.”

Jess nods once and musters a small smile. He has a lot to think about.

* * *

Rory enters the newsroom in a quiet huff, heaving her bookbag onto the desk and slumping in her seat. She peers out the window despondently, watching as amber and marigold leaves litter the footpaths, wind dancing through the quad foliage like a jaunty whistle. Autumn is settling in nicely at Yale. The weather is crisp, campus is abuzz with a new school year, and Rory cannot wait for this day to be over. She slides her laptop from her bag, booting it up, and pulling up her current word document. Then as furtively as she can, Rory peeks her head over the front edge like some caged meercat, watching for signs of the Yale Daily News editor.

Doyle is a diminutive man, beady eyes, narrow shoulders, and a quick, decisive gait. What he lacks in stature he makes up for with a go-getter attitude and biting wit. His mere presence allows the university newsroom to run (somewhat) smoothly, and Rory would do well to take a page from his general ethos regarding hard hitting journalism.

The problem is, she’s sort of dreading their next meeting. Doesn’t exactly know how to react to his harsh pep talks. _“This isn’t the piggly wiggly town tribune, Gilmore. Step it up.”_

Her first puff pieces went by without much fanfare, but after another stern talking to from Doyle, Rory finally hit her stride with a review of the collegiate production of Swan’s Lake ballet. In the end, she’d taken her editor’s advice and shoved aside pretty platitudes for honest grit, and the piece was a success. So to speak. There was, of course, the not-so-cryptic **_Die, Jerk!_** sign plastered to her front door, and the incredibly hostile encounter with the star ballerina in the dining hall.

(Jess scanned Rory’s early drafts one evening, guffawing in dry humor. “This is cold,” he hummed with wide eyes. Before she could protest, he started laughing, “Oh, this bit is good,” and she settled down some. Later on, when she showed him the final print, he nearly choked on his dinner. “I thought you were just letting off steam with that draft, Rory, Jesus!” She hadn’t known how to respond to that, feeling guilt niggling at her insides.)

In the end though, Rory’s ruthless takedown of the production and its big star earned her the quiet approval of her peers; Doyle was proud, Paris was impressed, and Logan Huntzberger—resident playboy and newsroom pretty boy—merely shot Rory a wink and murmured, _“Nice one, Gilmore,”_ when he passed her desk. And _that_ hadn’t felt good. Reminded her too much of her grandparents’ reaction to the piece, a misplaced pride and glee considering her easy callousness. The following week, Rory passed on an opportunity to review the university’s autumn festival exhibits, and did some reflection instead.

She didn’t like the divide between the role of writer and subject, Rory decided. The distance felt too great, the perspective all warped. She’d gotten into journalism for the depth of knowledge, the tireless journey to uncover the truth, and was disenchanted (and massively naïve) to find out not every piece was going to be a paved-parking-lot-story turned human-interest retrospective. Furthermore, the antics at Yale Daily felt far removed from her end goal. After all, the work of an overseas correspondent was to bridge the gap and shed light on the injustices of global politics. If Rory wanted to be in the trenches, she wasn’t going to get there writing scathing cultural pieces that only appealed to upper-class New England snobbery. She did not want to be a mouthpiece for that world, and her mood following the ballet scandal showed as much.

She sat in the newsroom one evening, mulling over her existential crisis when Logan appeared. Rory still didn’t know what to make of the precious heir. Their first encounter had been a bad one; Logan and his foolish buddies shitting on Marty and trying to placate Rory’s wrath with grand gestures. They reached a tentative truce as Rory worked on her next piece concerning the Life & Death Brigade, but the young man set her on edge.

Logan took one look at Rory’s dreary disposition and simply laughed. “So you stepped on a few toes, big deal. You need to get used to this, Ace.”

(She narrowed her eyes at his nickname for her. The overfamiliarity was grating.)

“You’re one of us too, you know. Private school, ivy league, blue blood Gilmores. Aren’t Emily and Richard building a new wing of the university library in your honor? Who do you think you are, the common man?” he asked with a smile, tipping her chin with a finger and sauntering off.

Rory recoiled at the touch, wiping a hand across her jaw and blanching as she considered Logan’s words. She suddenly thought of her mother—sixteen, with a newborn, and working as a maid to make ends meet and sustain their life in the inn’s backyard shed. And she thought of Jess—abandoned, too independent for his own good, and stubborn. Earning hourly wages and working his way up, never expecting a handout from anyone. She even thought of her work this summer, at a dinky little online zine barely making a dent in the cultural rounds but still gathering writers from all walks of life, pursuing stories the greater public cared about. It _was_ the viewpoint of the common man, Rory realized. And it was a hard pill to swallow, knowing her own life hadn’t followed a similar path, had veered onto a different course with Chilton and dreams of higher education.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed—she worked hard in every stage of her life, been dropped into new environments and usually rose to the occasion. It just felt…off-kilter now. Aimless and without perspective.

That dread reappears, and Rory is suddenly hit with the greatest urge to flee. Her fingers flex, as if reaching for the blurred edge of something, and she blinks rapidly, remembering herself. She straightens her spine, takes in the newsroom surroundings and notices Doyle’s blustering figure in the distance. Quickly, Rory packs up her laptop, grabs her newly printed draft for next week’s issue, and shoves it in Doyle’s hands on her way out.

“Gilmore, what—”

“Sorry, Doyle. I made the edits you mentioned. Let me know what else there is. I have to go though, I’m sorry,” Rory breathes, eyes locked past the editor.

She calls Jess that night, desperately wanting to hear his voice. He’s just getting back from Philadelphia, she knows, but he picks up on the third ring, a strange, excited quality to his voice as he putters around his apartment. He doesn’t go into much detail about his trip—just that he’d met some interesting guys at Truncheon and Greenlight decided to pick up their newest poetry anthology.

Books, Rory can do. Can discuss with light humor and introspection. But Jess picks up on her muted, conflicted tone, and redirects the conversation.

“You stop by the paper today?”

“Yup, just to drop off my newest draft. The first part in the Life & Death Brigade series,” she offers with forced cheer. She can’t tell Jess about her recent freakout. Wouldn’t even know how to form the words without feeling stupidly embarrassed.

“How’s that going?” Jess asks, a slight edge in his tone. (He can’t stand Logan, as it turns out. Between Rory’s description of his treatment of Marty, and the scant interactions they’ve had when Jess picks her up from the newsroom office…well, they weren’t making best friend bracelets any time soon.)

The reminder of the their wordless standoff suddenly pulls a laugh from Rory, and she shakes her head fondly. “It’s coming along,” she answers easily. “I actually have some experience delving into insane secret societies.”

Jess hums in confusion, and Rory laughs again. “Remind me to tell you about my Puff days back at Chilton.”

“You’re just a bag of tricks, Miss Gilmore.”

She smiles brighter this time, more genuine. And after a beat, “I miss you.”

Jess’ voice is low and tender. “I miss you too.”

She falls back on her bed, hugs an arm across her sternum and ghosts fingers over her chest. It feels strangely empty, Rory notes. Achy, like some unused muscle. Rory closes her eyes, and pictures Jess in his apartment, in a ratty t-shirt and sleep pants, sitting cross-legged on his sofa, books and papers and that notebook he doesn’t think she knows about strewn around him like a chaotic halo. It settles Rory’s nerves, thinking of him like this. Grounds her in a weird way.

“What if we went somewhere?” she asks suddenly.

Jess is busy balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder while shoving a plate of Chinese takeout into his microwave. “Like for your next break?”

And the words are right on her tongue. _“Come with me.” “Where?” “I don’t know. Away.”_ Rory bites her lip to keep the plea at bay, clears her throat, and wills the stinging behind her eyes to abate. This is the problem, she thinks. Naming the feeling that keeps her up at night, throwing it out into the night sky and hoping he’ll respond in kind. Maybe, maybe before Jess would’ve caught on. But he’s in a better place now, and Rory needs to be a steadying presence. If not for his benefit, then for hers, she reasons.

With a light chuckle, Rory breathes out a quiet, “Nevermind.”

Jess means to inquire but she reminds him they’ll see each other soon for a weekend in Stars Hollow, and makes some excuse about Paris and dinner before ending the phone call.

“Hey,” Jess interjects. “I love you.”

Rory twists the skin below her jaw, soothing a thumb over the reddening skin in a sudden act of kindness. She wishes he were here. “I love you, too,” she says, and it feels like the only real thing she can hang her hat on today.

* * *

Rory rushes to the Dragonfly, already late for a lunch date with her mother. Jess sent her off with a kiss and a promise to be there when he can; the diner is swamped with ‘a sudden bum rush of hungry mental patients,’ as Luke so lovingly put it, and he stayed behind to help. When she enters the dining room, she stops short at the sight of her mother chatting amiably with Christopher, little Gigi bouncing in the baby seat beside her father.

Pinching the strap of her purse, Rory slaps a smile on her face, greets her mother with a hug and a kiss, and drops into the seat beside Christopher, murmuring a forced “Hi, Dad.” If Lorelai notices anything afoot about the reunion between father and daughter, she doesn’t say, chattering excitedly about surprises and lunch options before rushing off towards the kitchen to confer with Sookie.

Rory works her jaw, tries to tamp down on the sudden wave of animosity, and keeps her eyes on baby Gigi to focus. She’s grown so much since that night in the hospital. Hazel eyes, plump red cheeks, and a shock of blonde hair framing her face. _She looks cherubic_ , Rory thinks. Perhaps a carbon copy of Christopher at that age.

Her father murmurs her name, tone unsure, and Rory turns to him stiffly, still gobsmacked. He looks better than the last time they spoke, more human in the light of day. He’s wearing a soft v-neck sweater over his button up, pressed jeans without any rips or holes, and there’s a designer baby bag at his feet. She tries to reconcile this Christopher with the hazy memories of him during her childhood. When it was all wild grins, worn leather jackets, and the soft rumble of his Harley. It hurts.

God, why hadn’t her mother mentioned he’d be here? And why hadn’t Rory told Lorelai about their encounter at the start of summer? She swallows thickly and shakes her head.

“I should’ve known,” Rory mumbles, the words coming out more accusatory than she intends. She’s not sure she has a right to be angry—after all, _she’s_ the one keeping things from Lorelai, trying her hand at pulling the strings—but she’s well past caring. She asked her father for one thing.

Chris’ expression is caught between guilt and indignation. “I didn’t call her, Rory,” he answers quietly.

Rory juts her chin out. “Bull.”

“Hey,” he begins, wrapping a hand around her elbow, “I did not plan this. Your mother called me a while back. She hadn’t heard from me—per your request—and she wanted to see what was up. That’s all. And I don’t deserve the cold shoulder from you, kid. What’s going on? Jumping to conclusions and keeping secrets—that’s not you.”

Chris has the gall to look disappointed, and Rory’s hackles rise. She knows she overstepped before—she’ll cop to that, come clean to her mother—but her father’s demeanor is a touch too familiar for her liking, and she suddenly can’t stand the sight of him.

Wrenching her arm from Chris’ grip, Rory shoves back from the table, the scratch of chair legs against wood flooring too loud for the confined space. A few eyes dart in their direction, and she leans forward, voice hushed. “What would you know about me, Dad?” Rory asks harshly, gaze razor sharp.

Her father’s response is caught in his throat, whatever offended mess swallowed up by Gigi’s sudden gurgling. The near toddler slaps a pudgy hand on the table, face twisted up in a little grin. She wants in on the conversation it seems. Chris brushes a palm across the child’s forehead, sweeping stray hairs from her face and soothing her outburst some. When he turns back and catches the look on Rory’s face, his chest cracks. He drops his head and takes a halting breath, gathering his thoughts.

“Rory, please—”

But a noise behind them interrupts, a light patter of quick footsteps. Rory turns to find Jess making his way towards them, dark hair windswept in his rush to get to the inn and expression soft. When he gets a better look at the tense standoff between father and daughter though, he lifts a brow.

“Hey, uh…”

Rory eyes him like a lifeline and immediately rises, reaching for his hand. “Jess,” she breathes. “Let’s go.”

Lorelai rounds on them then, skipping from the kitchen and rambling about pot roast sandwiches when she greets the newcomer. “Hey,” the older Gilmore says with a smile, “you joining us for lunch?” She looks between the three of them, and cocks her head. “You introduce them yet, Rory?”

Rory gives a pathetic attempt at angling her body towards her father, gesturing between the two men. “This is my boyfriend, Jess. Jess, Christopher,” Rory offers in a flat tone.

Jess means to shake the man’s hand, but reconsiders when he sees Chris’ expression harden with recognition. “Wait, Jess? You mean the punk who wrecked your car? Broke up with you by running off to California?” he asks angrily.

Jess’s gaze flashes to Rory, unsure of how to respond. He’s never met a girl’s parents before—never made it that far in any relationship—and doesn’t exactly know how to navigate his former fuckups with his girlfriend’s absent father. There’s something slightly amusing about the man’s indignation, something stupidly misplaced, but Jess knows better than to push the guy’s buttons on their first meeting. Certainly not when Rory is already glaring at her father like she’d like to throttle him.

Rory snorts, pitching forward and gathering her things from the table. “Spare me,” she spits. “You don’t get to play the overprotective parent whenever you please. What, you spent one day watching me get my cast off, spent a weekend playing house with Mom and now you’re a family man? Giving Nicholas Cage a run for his money, Dad?” she asks hotly, jaw clenched. “The accident was an eternity ago. So much good has happened since then, but you wouldn’t know that, would you? _You_ chose your new family, _you_ left. And I won’t be that little girl anymore, hoping you’ll finally look my way,” Rory breathes, eyes hard.

Jess recognizes the spark of anger vibrating through Rory’s tense form, sees the way her resolve bolsters and bares fangs. He slips a hand to the small of her back and tries to transfer calm in his touch. “Rory,” he murmurs.

Lorelai must feel the same, as she gapes, shocked at Rory’s sudden ire. “Kid, cool it,” she whispers, gaze running between the younger Gilmore and her stock still father.

“No, this is ridiculous. We’ll catch you later, Mom,” Rory says, leaning forward and pressing her cheek to Lorelai’s in apology and goodbye. “You two enjoy lunch.” She moves to turn when a small hand stills her. Reaches out for the soft sleeve of her shearling jacket and tugs, gurgling happy nonsense.

Rory feels a lump form in her throat as she looks down at her baby sister. Suddenly feels the insurmountable distance between herself and the mended family she could have. She crouches to her knees and squeezes the child’s hand, nudges a finger to her cheek. “Bye, Gigi.”

She’s out the door in the next second, Jess in tow after sharing a look with Lorelai and offering a quiet ‘Nice to meet you’ to Rory’s father.

Lorelai watches their retreating forms in confusion and turns to Christopher. “Okay,” she breathes. “What the hell was that about?”

* * *

Jess wordlessly follows as Rory walks the familiar path from the Dragonfly towards the bridge behind Larson’s dock. She rounds the dirt path past the big oak tree, footsteps steadfast and thudding, before Jess jogs ahead and wraps a hand around her elbow, tugging lightly.

“Hey,” he breathes, dipping his head to get a better look at her face.

Rory turns then, peering up as if remembering where they are, what just happened, and she sighs a little, runs a hand down his forearm and threads their fingers together. She pulls him to sit at the halfway point of the bridge, their knees knocking once they settle against the groaning wood planks. She pushes her purse and jacket aside, and Jess slips his book from his back pocket to throw onto the pile. His pack of cigarettes and his lighter are next. Rory watches him, expression blank, and reaches into her jeans pocket for a tube of chapstick, a couple of coins, and tosses them on the growing heap. Jess raises an eyebrow, undoes the black strap and cuff at his wrist, and throw _that_ on top. She shrugs, apparently out of stray nick-nacks, and starts unbuttoning her cardigan next. Jess quickly lurches forward and lightly shoves her shoulder.

“Don’t even start,” he grunts, eyes dancing, and Rory laughs, the sound reverberating across the empty lake. It’s the first time all morning she’s genuinely smiled. “There,” Jess nods, watching her face. “That’s better.”

She reaches down, skating a hand across his knee and squeezing. “Thanks.”

“No problem. The next time you’re upset, we’ll go straight to strip poker,” he quips.

Rory smiles softer this time, eyes washing over him like an embrace.

Jess’ throat tightens, feeling hot with her gaze on him. He still feels out of depth sometimes, helplessly reaching for sarcasm or humor to diffuse an oddly intense moment. When it’s just the two of them, it’s too easy to get wrapped up in their own world. That much is apparent from their shared time in New York, from the steady peace they established that summer. It was effortless living together; something Jess often dreamed about but never thought a possibility. And suddenly Rory appeared, burrowing her way into his life and carving out new structures in his heart. She pushes him, constantly and without malice, to be better. To hold himself to a higher standard, to act on his wants, and to allow himself happiness.

As Jess peers back at her almost bashfully, he wonders what _he_ can offer. He’s met her peers at Yale, felt that prickle of insecurity when her roommates babbled about their studies or guys like Logan rode off in his Porsche. Jess wasn’t of that world, and while it never bothered him much before (he and Rory always had enough in common to bridge the divide), it was hard to ignore how their differing paths might prove too difficult in the future. He swallows roughly, covering her hand with his, and tries to smile. He’s here to comfort, not throw another freakout into the mix.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks quietly.

Rory’s mouth settles into a grim line. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she admits.

Jess shrugs, his expression open and honest. “At the beginning.”

She turns their joined hands over, brushing a thumb along the inside of his wrist, and hums, the ghost of smile at her lips again. “Things at school aren’t going well.”

“I thought you had a better handle on your courses this year.”

“I do,” she rushes to explain. “It’s not the work load, or even my performance.”

“Is it the paper?” Jess asks, brows knitting in confusion.

“Sort of. But it’s more like…everything,” Rory says, chuckling humorlessly. “I go through the motions; I write whatever mundane piece Doyle assigns, I finish my homework, I eat dinner with Paris and have ridiculous conversations about Asher’s angina and whether he’s written his son out of the will. I hit all my marks,” she breathes, looking past Jess’ shoulder with shiny eyes. “So how come it feels like something’s missing?’

Jess doesn’t know what to say. He’s felt it before, that gaping hole that eats away at his mind and makes his chest tight, but that was a different time, and for vastly different reasons.

“And this thing with Christopher,” Rory continues, shaking her head. “I know I need to talk to my mom, apologize to her and my dad. But the way he watches her…she’s it, for him, you know? She’s his _one,_ and it’s all gonna blow up in our faces. And I can’t do anything to fix it.”

 _Maybe that’s the problem_ , Jess thinks. The lack of predictability and control over the situation, maybe that’s what really grates. Rory is a creature of habit, seeks comfort in her tried and true organizational skills. To throw a monkey wrench into her plans—whether it comes in the form of her father, or challenges at school, or _Jess_ —might be the greatest offense.

Jess untangles his hand from Rory’s and scoots closer, reaching up and cradling her face tenderly. He’s never been the best with words, but touch, surprisingly (from a kid who never sought or was offered much tactile comfort), comes easy. And with Rory especially, it feels like second nature. He brings her face close, knocks his forehead to hers while running a hand from the underside of her jaw to nape of her neck.

“Who says you have to fix it, Rory?” he asks simply. He doesn’t have an answer for her current worries, can’t even imagine what it must feel like to have the weight of expectation on her shoulders, but he wants her to consider her part in all this. What role is she playing, and who is she playing it for?

Rory sighs, the tense line of her body unwinding some, before she wraps her arms around his shoulders and slides forward into his lap. She cocks her head and presses a lingering kiss to his lips, nudging his mouth open and licking inside hotly. They go at it a while, Jess’ mind a blur— _shouldn’t they be talking_ , he thinks dumbly—but then Rory grips the hair at the nape of his neck hard and rolls her hips, and any attempt at conversation is shelved for another time. He smooths a hand from her waist to the swell of her hip, grabbing at the flesh roughly and adjusting her position, pushing her back and forth, back and forth against him.

It’s shameless rutting, and Jess has an errant thought to perhaps stop, still irrationally scared Taylor will pop out from behind a bush and write him a citation. But it feels good, and Rory seems much more enthusiastic about this than unpacking her childhood abandonment issues, so he allows himself to enjoy it. He dips his head and sucks a spot below her ear, earning an appreciative hum from Rory, and she suddenly pushes him onto his back, further straddling his hips and looking down at Jess with hunger.

She’s got a hand beneath his shirt, delicate fingers sweeping across his lower stomach, when a twig snaps in the distance. Maybe a passing deer or a scurrying squirrel. Birds caw from up above and a sudden shift of wind blows through the trees, disrupting a smattering of fall leaves along the dirt path. It brings Rory to focus—Jess watches her body tense in recognition, the way the haze clears from her eyes—and she leans back, sitting gently on his thighs. They share a flushed look and a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Well,” Rory breathes.

Jess leans forward, wraps an arm around her waist and settles his face against her collarbone. “Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s not sucha good idea to do this out in the open,” she jokes, voice breathy.

“Probably not.” Jess starts chuckling, jostling their joined position some and hissing when Rory’s splayed thighs tighten over his growing hardness. “Gimme a second,” he breathes.

“You know,” Rory starts, pressing a hand to the side of Jess’ face, gaze hot. “I’ve got a perfectly good bed back at home.”

The idea is tempting. _Really_ tempting, as Rory hugs him close, licking at the shell of his ear and tugging the lobe between her teeth. But this early afternoon’s been a mess, and they both know she’ll have to have it out with Lorelai later. Probably best not to have Jess in the house in some post-coital daze. With great restraint, he pulls back, presses a chaste kiss to her lips, and shakes his head.

“Let’s get some food,” he offers. “We missed lunch.”

They walk to Luke’s, entering hand in hand, and said diner owner takes one look at Rory’s morose expression and jerks his head to the kitchen. “I can have Caesar fix you some burgers.”

Rory smiles thankfully, leaning up over the counter and patting Luke on the shoulder. “And chili cheese fries please.”

“Have a salad,” he begs.

“Sure. Put it on the side of the fries. They can keep each other company.”

Luke shakes his head, fighting a smile, and Jess secretly delights in their little squabble, winking at Rory when he thanks his _‘Uncle Luke’_ sweetly. They eat at a table tucked in the corner, swapping fries and a shared milkshake, and people watching out the window.

Rory bumps the foot of her shoe against Jess’ shin then, catching his attention. “You never told me about Philadelphia. How was it?” She likes to hear about his work, delights in the publishing houses Jess frequents as he curates a new selection for Greenlight.

But his face drops a little in response, lips pulling into a tight smile. “It was nothing,” he says with a shrug.

“Yeah, but you liked them? The guys from Truncheon, right?”

Jess nods, chewing on his lip and considering what’s safe to tell. It’s no big deal, he reasons. It’s not like he’s running off to Philadelphia anyway. He’s got a good setup in New York, he likes his job, likes being close enough to Connecticut for Rory and Luke. His writing isn’t even a _thing,_ for God’s sake. It’s just a stupid outlet. A means to vent. But…he thinks back to Matt’s excitement, Chris’ easy appraisal and offer of, _“Care for another set of eyes?”_ Jess swallows, working out an excuse, when Rory cocks her head at him.

“Something happened,” she surmises.

He’s silent.

“Something good,” she decides, taking in his expression, the great care and consideration he seems to be handling the Philadelphia situation with.

Jess searches for the words, and Rory reaches across the table, squeezing his fingers lightly. “You’ll tell me when you’re sure,” she says, the back end of her voice lifting up in question.

He exhales in relief, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders. “I will,” he promises.

Luke ambles to their table then, dropping a bag of donuts in front of Rory.

“Thanks, Luke!” she calls out, ignoring his grumbles about processed sugar and carb counts.

Jess raises his eyebrows, and Rory shrugs. “I gotta talk to my mom. Figured reinforcements via baked goods would help.” She rises, places a few bills on the table before Jess can stop her, and stands before him. Drops a brief but tender kiss to the crown of his head and murmurs a soft ‘See you later,’ in his ear before exiting the diner.

He watches her leave and thinks she stands straighter than before. More assured, more ready. And Jess is proud. He wants to see Rory do well. Wants to be around to watch it all happen. He thinks of Philadelphia again, and a wave of uncertainty hits him square in the chest.

* * *

Christopher ends his phone call with Rory with a soft, “I love you, kid.” It hadn’t been a particularly easy conversation, and there were moments he choked up, emotion clinging around his throat like a vice. But he apologized, and Rory apologized, and they made plans for another phone date. Maybe he could visit her at Yale. Bring Gigi along. “You could meet Jess. Properly,” she offered, and he grumbled about that, still trying to wrap his head around the young man’s continued presence in Rory’s life.

In the background, Lorelai snorted at his lackluster response, her voice floating through the line later when he and Rory exchanged goodbyes. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she crowed, tone light. Rory shushed her, embarrassed. “Mom, please.” Christopher couldn’t help but laugh, a rush of affection washing over him. He had no doubt Lorelai helped convince Rory into making the call. He owed her, just like with everything else, for helping straighten things out. Lorelai was good like that.

He checks on Gigi again, making sure she settled into sleep comfortably, before heading to the kitchen and stowing dinner in the fridge. He reaches for a beer when the doorbell rings. Padding to the foyer and creaking the door open, he’s met with none other than Emily Gilmore, dressed immaculately and clutching a chic purse over her shoulder.

Emily takes one look at him and breezes into the house. “Christopher,” she intones, gaze determined. “We need to talk about Lorelai.”

Something like dread and anticipation settles in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wedding bell blues~

Rory wakes from a fitful sleep that night, head jerking up abruptly and jostling her already muddled brain. She blearily takes stock of her surroundings, blinking rapidly and glancing at herself. She’s swimming in an old band tee, legs bare, with Jess in a similar state of undress, the two of them tangled in bed under a mountain of blankets in his New York apartment. The ancient radiator rasps at the wall along the window, blowing huffs of balmy air into the ice box that is Jess’ studio. She squints at the digital clock on his nightstand—barely 6 a.m.—and sighs.

Forcing a calming breath into her lungs, Rory reminds herself there are no projects to finish, no deadlines to meet, no show to put on at Yale. Winter break has just begun, and she’s been spending more time in the city—'The Big Apple,’ as she still charmingly refers to it, just to get a rise out of Jess. (He’d never admit it, but he finds it sweet, watching her approach his home turf with such marvel, the English rose of her cheeks beautiful and pronounced amidst the Manhattan cold.) Rory groggily turns in Jess’ arms, burying her nose into this neck and humming. Even in this chill, he’s like a furnace, warmth steadily radiating off his lithe form. She sneaks a hand around his bare torso, fingers dancing across his ribs, and the feather light touch pulls him from slumber. She exhales a small laugh in amusement and apology.

Jess grunts something unintelligible in response, sliding his arm further across Rory’s shoulders and lazily pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Why are you up so early?” he murmurs. This has been happening more often, he notes. Rory waking up before the sun has even crested and slipping away to make a cup of coffee or sit on the fire escape until exhaustion leads her back to bed.

“Can’t sleep,” she whispers, running a foot down Jess’ calf and enjoying the way he grumbles from her cold appendages, his body curling around her like a taut bowstring.

He blinks sleep from his eyes and rests a hand at the nape of her neck, fingers idly playing with her hair. “What’s up,” Jess inquires.

Rory smiles bleakly into his collarbones, placing a soft kiss on the skin and gathering her thoughts. When she finally speaks, her voice is no more than a shrouded rumble, the early hours cloying the inside of her throat. “I’m dreading my grandparents’ vow renewal,” she admits, leaning back to face him. “I’m happy they’re doing better and want to celebrate that, but…it’ll be a whole production.” They wear matching grimaces now. Jess remains silent, unsure of how to ease her worries, but she continues, a little smile suddenly playing on her lips. “At least you’ll be there.”

“Yes, I’m thrilled about it, as you know,” Jess deadpans, rolling his eyes for added effect.

Rory hugs him in response, squeezing tightly. “My man,” she croons dramatically, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek in thanks and apology. “You’ll look very spiffy in a suit,” she says placatingly, like that’ll make Jess feel better.

At the reminder of dress code, he groans outright, harrumphing lightly before finally cracking a smile. “So will you, it seems.”

Rory offers a fleeting grin, genuinely excited at the prospect of being her grandfather’s ‘best (wo)man’ for the ceremony—at the very least, she didn’t have to suffer endless rounds of dress fittings under Emily’s scrutiny—but her expression soon sours. This will be first time Jess spends any significant time with her grandparents and their high society brethren. It could all go south in a myriad of ways; Rory’s certainly witnessed enough Gilmore blowups and meltdowns throughout the years. Not to mention, she and Jess will probably have to run interference for Lorelai and Luke, no doubt complicating an already stressful event. But despite his grumbling, Jess was resolute in his attendance, and she was thankful for it. Rory knows he’d rather have his teeth pulled than suffer an evening schmoozing with Hartford’s finest, but he’d been a trooper about the whole thing, doing what he could to support Rory. She kisses him softer at the corner of his mouth, batting her lashes dramatically and causing Jess to laugh.

“What are the chances we can steal away and make out in the coat closet?” he asks after a while.

“Already planning our great escape, huh?”

“Always be prepared, Gilmore,” Jess responds with faux seriousness.

“Well,” Rory hedges, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

He seems satisfied with that, and she considers the conversation finished, pulling him forward and mumbling a breathy, ‘Come here.’ It takes little cajoling for Jess to roll on top of her, elbows braced on either side of Rory’s head.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

Rory returns the greeting, deftly wrapping a leg around Jess’ hip and using a foot to slide his boxers down. She’s gotten better at this, initiating her wants and boldly undressing him when the urge hits.

Jess chuckles, shucking off the offending piece of clothing and slipping a hand beneath the hem of her shirt, lazily pulling it over her head and dropping it to the floor. He sucks a mark at the edge of her jaw, laving a tongue at the reddened skin before running a path of kisses from her collarbone to the underside of her breast, dipping at her navel, and finally nipping at the edge of her underwear.

Rory inhales sharply when Jess presses the heel of his palm to the damp thatch of fabric between her legs, tilting her hips upward for more contact. He takes his time, hovering over her with dark eyes, just watching. Even in the murky dawn of early morning, she can see Jess’ pupils blown wide, the usual amber of his irises barely visible.

After a moment, he slings his finger at the waistband of her panties and slides them down her legs, happily flinging them to a far corner of the room. Placing a halting kiss to the soft swell of her lower stomach, he lifts his eyes in permission. They’re still careful with each other, exploring with as much caution as enthusiasm. This is Rory’s first foray into the physical aspect of a relationship, after all, and Jess’ first time beyond casual, throwaway relations. It surprised him though, the fervor with which she approached sex. Always wholehearted, always earnest, and—it makes Jess’ ears burn—always willing to learn.

Rory meets his gaze now, eyes a shocking, hungry blue, and nods. “Please.”

Jess slides further down the bed, nudging her legs apart and swiping a thumb across her folds. His fingers catch at the hood of her sex, holding her open as he drags his tongue against her. _She’s so wet_ , he thinks blearily, unconsciously rutting into the sheets as Rory gasps. He sucks on her with intent, two fingers gathering moisture and pushing inside, drilling in and out as they hook skyward. The steady penetration coupled with his insistent tongue pulls a cry from Rory’s lips, the sound muffled as she stuffs a forearm against her mouth.

Jess lifts his head, fingers still fucking into her. “Don’t do that,” he scolds, jaw slick. “I wanna hear you.”

And it’s so intense, no hint of teasing in his voice or expression, that a thrill runs up her spine as she clenches down on his fingers. Rory reaches out with both hands and tugs at Jess’ hair, angling his mouth towards her again and moaning outright. The next few moments are a blur of sucking and muted pressure. It’s enough to get her off, but Rory pulls back before the moment hits, vaulting a little higher on the bed and panting harshly. “Wait,” she breathes.

Jess’ gaze is unfocused, one hand dropping to her thigh while the other grips his cock, slick fingers wrapped around the base. He watches her almost desperately. “What do you want,” he murmurs.

Rory beckons Jess forward and rearranges their bodies, with him lying flat on his back and her kneeling between his splayed legs. She forgoes an explanation and simply slides a hand down his shaft, fist circling him firm enough that he hisses from the pressure. Rory spits into a palm and runs her fingers over his cockhead, delicate knuckles rapping across the leaking slit and nudging at the underside. She gathers the precum and rubs him up and down, up and down, her teeth digging into the meat of her bottom lip in concentration. Jess’ throat constricts at the sight, at the focused, almost depraved way she manhandles him, and he has to shut his eyes for a second before losing it. When he feels her breath ghost over his length, his eyes snap open. They haven’t done this particular thing before. Rory initiated it a few times, but Jess always led her away with a wandering mouth and hands. He couldn’t pinpoint the reason why—it wasn’t for lack of desire, that’s for sure—but he sometimes still thought of Rory as that fumbling seventeen year old she was when they first met. Jess stupidly felt like he would taint her somehow.

But Rory is past convincing or distracting tonight. Jess watches as she twists her fist at the base of him while licking a stripe up the ridge of his cock, taking the head into her mouth and sucking experimentally. She laves a flat tongue at the underside of him, swirling around him next, and playing with different movements and pressures. The feeling is hot satin, and Jess reaches down to cup her cheek—whether to still her ministrations or urge her forward, he doesn’t know. Rory moves his hand from her cheek to the back of her head, humming appreciatively as she slips further down and moans. Jess is stock still, trying to tamp down on the debauched urge to rush his hips into that wet, delicious heat. His hand on Rory’s head starts to gently encourage her though, his lower stomach tensing when the tip of his cock brushes against the back of her throat and she lightly gags.

Despite himself, Jess burns that gurgled noise into memory, filing it away in the deep recesses of his mind for later examination. She rears back and takes him all the way in again, nose buried against the coarse hair of his groin, and Jess muffles a curse, an almost violent croak bursting from his throat in its place. He motions for her to move, but Rory is determined. She gazes up at him, eyes burning, and braces an arm across his hips to steady herself and keep him from shallowly fucking into her mouth. Instead, she tightly hollows her cheeks, bobbing up and down once more, fingers working around what won’t fit past her lips. When she moves a hand past his base to cup at him, applying the lightest pressure, he almost comes right then and there.

He’s close, a pronounced chord in his thigh shaking perilously, and Jess grips her shoulder in warning, gaze pleading. Rory lifts her mouth from him with a squelching _pop!_ and suddenly straddles his hips, his spit-slick cock sliding against the throbbing core of her sex. Jess watches, transfixed, as Rory uses him to get herself off, the swollen head of his cock rubbing against her most sensitive part sweetly. She gasps at the sensation, demanding more, and it’s all too easy for her to guide him inside, taking him to the hilt and shifting her hips. The tightness is like a punch to the gut. Jess comes with a yelp, sitting up and wrapping an arm around her waist, his vision going white as he presses the pads of his fingers into her skin. It’s sure to leave bruises later.

Rory is lost in it, grinding down on him and finally burying her head against his neck with a satisfied groan. They sit like that for a moment, catching their breaths and adjusting to the stream of winter sunlight flooding through the windows.

After a while, Rory taps her fingers on Jess’ shoulder, prompting him to lift her so she can sit back on his thighs, his softening cock nestled between them.

He looks down at her, equal parts amazed and apprehensive. “That was something else,” he murmurs, lips curling in a small smile.

Rory shrugs, tracing her thumb across his cheek and trying to hide her growing blush. Jess wants to laugh; she just initiated all of … _that,_ and now she has the gall to go shy. “I wanted to,” she breathes quietly, offering a hesitant smile of her own. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she admits.

Jess slides his hands from her waist to cup her backside, warm fingers delighting in soft flesh. “What else have you been thinking about,” he says with raised eyebrows. “Because I don’t have to be at work for another two hours, I’m sure we could fit in another—”

She cuts him off with a soft kiss, smiling into it. “Maybe later, Casanova. I wouldn’t object to a shower though. And coffee.”

He’s already lifting them from the bed and guiding Rory to the bathroom, posture cocksure. “Showering is good,” Jess begins, shooting her a charming grin. “Showering together even better. Saves water.”

Rory shakes her head indulgently and tries to fix him with a harsh glare. “ _Just_ showering, Jess,” she warns, allowing him to walk her backwards until her calves hit the edge of the tub.

Jess smiles guilelessly, his face the picture of innocence. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Later that night, they’re sitting together in his ratty loveseat, the secondhand furniture made more homey with a heavy throw blanket and fuzzy pillow Lorelai stitched for them. They demolish a pizza Jess brought home from Bleeker Street after work and settle in for the night with a rented tape. Rory had vetoed _Crash_ , and Jess, _Garden State_. _“I’m not watching a movie set in Jersey, I don’t care how good the soundtrack is,”_ he’d grumbled. So _The Machinist_ it was.

She’s got her feet tucked beneath her, head lolling against Jess’ shoulder, an arm thrown haphazardly across his waist as her eyes are glued to the TV. The plotline is intense, the reveal of the reason behind Trevor’s insomnia pulling a sad gasp from her lips. Jess is quiet though, watching the story play out with a hard stare. It’s recognition, Rory thinks, in his eyes. It’s some sort of heaviness he knows all about. She nudges a finger against his cheek, running it along his temple and tugging at his earlobe—a soft, inquiring gesture—and he slides his palm down her back, gently pressing against her waist as his other hand circles her wrist. He doesn’t say anything, couldn’t find the words even if he wanted to, and Rory doesn’t push. They do this sometimes, bodies tethered to each other by pure magnetism, gazes locked in silent communication. Rory thought it was natural, didn’t mind the curious stares from her schoolmates or Stars Hollow folks these days. But Lane had been the first to point it out (Lorelai soon after in a much more cheeky manner).

“You guys are intense,” she said with a curious smile one afternoon, legs slung over the large bulge of her beanbag chair. Frenzied key smashing and muted curses came from the living room, as Zach and Brian entered another Super Mario tournament.

Rory continued to thumb through her best friend’s makeup bin, desperately in search of a tinted lip balm that wouldn’t remind Jess of a Bath & Body Works when he kissed her. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” she started, gesturing broadly, “all wrapped up in each other, making eyes, not saying a word. _Intense_ ,” Lane repeated.

“Not all the time,” Rory explains. “Sometimes we talk so much my jaw starts to ache. School, work, books, and music. His music opinions rival yours, Lane, I felt like I was back in debate club the way I had to defend my take on Smashing Pumpkins,” she jokes.

“They’re sublime, you just haven’t seen the light!”

“Uh huh.”

Lane hummed after a moment. “Well, anyone who can match my good taste and veracity is a worthy man.”

Rory laughed. “Hear, hear. But seriously, we’re not always so…it’s just that _he’s_ intense,” she said, tapping a finger at her chin. “Always has been, even when we were younger.”

“Oh, I know. He certainly had that dark and brooding thing going on. All the girls at school secretly lusted over that.”

Rory blanched, suddenly affronted. “They _what_? You never told me that.”

Lane giggled. “I’m sorry, it’s not like it naturally came up in conversation.”

She peeked from the corner of her eye. “All the girls, huh?”

“Mystery Mariano, that’s what they called him.”

She tossed a tube of lip gloss at her friend. “They did not,” she said with another laugh.

Lane simply grinned in response.

Rory squeezed next to her on the beanbag chair, expression inquisitive. “What if Jess is a secret hunk—or, _not_ so secret? I think most of the women he comes across at Wayland’s are half in love with him.”

Lane bumped their shoulders together. “You jealous?”

She started to rally. “Maybe!” Rory crooned, before her face turned thoughtful. “Well, not jealous exactly,” she admitted, voice lifting in uncertainty. “More like, it’s obvious to me why girls would be into him. He’s smart, and thoughtful, and he’s, you know, easy on the eyes or whatever,” Rory rushed out in a breath.

Lane chortled, the force of her mirth jostling her glasses. “Hot, Rory. You can say it.”

Rory gave her the stink eye. “Fine, he’s a babe.”

“Thatta girl.”

She knocked her knees against Lane’s in lighthearted reproach. “It’s just,” she continues, “he’s a great catch—I saw it from the beginning. And now we have this thing together, and it’s like, of course I was right, look how well he’s doing, look how good he is to me…” Rory trailed off, blushing fiercely at her sudden moony tangent.

“You’ve got it bad.”

“Whatever, so I’ve got a crush on my boyfriend, there are worse situations to be in.”

“True.”

Rory shook her head, hoping to change the subject before she blushed down to her toes. “Anyways,” she prompted.

And Lane obliged. Told Rory about Hep Alien’s recent rehearsals, how her mother had begrudgingly visited the apartment last month and basically pretended her roommates were girls to soften the blow, how Dave had sent her a series of letters at the start of the school year.

“What!” Rory blurted. “God, way to bury the lead. Do they know?” she asked, gesturing to the duo outside.

Lane sighed, lips curling into a bittersweet smile. “Nah, I haven’t mentioned it. I think Zach is still holding a grudge too, so…but I miss him,” she admitted.

Rory wrapped an arm around her friend, squeezing comfortingly. After a moment, she shot Lane a conspiratorial grin. “Well, what’d he say? Come on, we have to parse through these letters for subtext. And I happen to have a keen eye when it comes romantic prose.”

“You’re a nerd,” Lane said affectionately.

They spent the rest of the afternoon reading through bits and pieces of Dave’s letters, listening to dreary Lou Reed albums, and re-organizing Lane’s wood plank supply chest. They sat cross legged on her bed that evening, trying to decide where to have dinner.

“Al’s is doing Moroccan again.”

“Hard pass.”

“Hey,” Rory started suddenly, “do you ever think about it, going out to California to see him?”

Lane paused from her careful food deliberation, eyes widening. “That…would be a lot. And it’s been so long. What if he thought I was more psycho killer than John-Cusack-standing-outside-with-a-boombox? There are too many variables,” she rattled off. She watched Rory carefully, wondering where this was coming from. “Did you ever want to do that, after Jess left to stay with his dad?”

She shrugged. “Spontaneity has never been my strong suit,” Rory joked, ignoring the ache in her chest. She _had_ thought about it, wanted to summon some of the courage from when she visited Jess in New York after the car accident. But the summer after high school was too difficult, too unsure. She couldn’t just fuck off to Venice Beach. _But Lane is different_ , Rory often thought. Despite Mama Kim’s grueling strictness, Lane stuck to her guns. She had her music, her band, her wit, her boy who she loved. She was brave, and it made her best friend proud.

A few weeks later, Lane was en route to Orange County, pooling enough money from band gigs and extra shifts at Luke’s to fly out west. She left Rory a rambling message from John Wayne, her voice pitched higher in cautious excitement. Dave had been the impetus, dropping hints in his letters that he’d be more than willing to travel back east during the break before Lane called him one night, blurted that she loved him, and booked a ticket. Rory grinned into her phone, imagining their reunion, what song would play in the background? Given the times, probably something by Michelle Branch.

She snorts now, shaking her head from her reverie and receiving a questioning smile from Jess.

“What?”

“I’m thinking about Lane,” she says simply, smiling.

“How’s she doing?”

Rory fiddles with the sleeve of her sweater. “Good, I don’t think she and Dave have left his bedroom since—”

Her words are cut short by Jess’ palm pressed against her lips. “Too much information,” he drawls.

Laughing, she grips his wrist and drags his hand to her neck. “They’re good,” she offers again. “I’m really happy for her.”

“She staying out there for good?”

“Nah, she’s got her band here and her mom and classes at Connecticut State. I think they’re gonna give long distance a try.”

Jess exhales lowly, eyes contemplative as he drums his fingertips against her collarbone. “That’s brave.”

Rory nods, gaze tender. She’s been thinking more about the direction of her own life as of late. School, career, relationship. She wants that courage—that surefootedness the people she loves seem to radiate. She’d do just about anything to get it. “Yeah,” she whispers, placing a hand over Jess’. “Brave.”

* * *

Jess reties the knot for the umpteenth time, grunting in frustration when the loop turns wonky and pinched. He rips the offending cravat over his head and chucks it across the bathroom, fussing with the neck of his shirt instead.

“Fuckin’ monkey suit,” he grumbles.

Luke stands behind him, a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. He’s dreading this night just as much as his nephew, but there’s comfort in shared misery apparently.

“Need some help?” he finally asks, reaching for the tie and beginning to readjust the loop before Jess can answer.

He sends his uncle a longsuffering glare through the bathroom mirror. He’d needed Luke’s help the day of Liz’ wedding too. It hits him suddenly; if he’s to endure more evenings with the blue blood Gilmores, he’d have to get used to this ridiculous charade—at the very least, Jess would have to learn how to properly tie a tie and not want to choke himself to death in the process. He watches Luke closely, impressed at the quiet resignation with which he trades greasy plaid for sport coats and cufflinks. Even his hair is neatly pulled back. Not a backwards baseball cap in sight.

“Lorelai’s got you all GQ’d up, huh,” Jess quips, silently taking the pre-tied strand from his uncle and securing it around his neck and under the collar of his button up.

“You’re one to talk, wise guy. I didn’t think you owned more than one dress shirt.”

They finish getting ready above the diner, the both of them tugging at their clothes every now and then like petulant schoolchildren.

“This is gonna be a long night,” Jess mutters as they enter Luke’s pickup.

His uncle slides the shifting gear into place and pulls out onto the road. “Oh, you betcha.”

* * *

Somehow, the crisp suit, the uncomfortable dress shoes, the overtly tidy hair, are all made bearable when Jess sees Rory. She sidesteps her mother at the door, shooting Luke a grin and patting his shoulder on her way to Jess. Her cheeks are flushed, mouth pulled wide in an easy smile as she slings her suit over her shoulder. Rory gives him an appreciative once over, her eyes raking hotly over the strong line of his back and his clean-shaven jaw. She bounds down the steps of her house, nearly jumping into Jess’ arms and pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

His lips quirk in a half smile. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” And after a minute of staring, “You really _do_ clean up nice, you know,” Rory goads, interlocking her fingers with his.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jess grouses against her ear. “Save the sweet talk for later.”

Rory breathes out a laugh, turning to bid Luke and Lorelai a murmured ‘See ya there’—the older couple barely acknowledging them as they’re locked in a bickering match about whether he should’ve just changed later at the venue—before climbing into Rory’s Prius, Hartford bound. Jess had offered to take his car, but figured the sight of his clunky behemoth against a sparkling backdrop wouldn’t do him any favors. He was still racking his brain on how to appropriately regard Emily, mentally slapping himself for his smart mouth that one night years ago. He distinctly remembers telling her he wanted to be buried at a Walmart. At least he wasn’t sporting a black eye this time.

As they careen down the I-5, Rory reaches over and squeezes his hand. “Nervous?”

Jess shrugs silently, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Just be yourself,” Rory suggested, causing him to shoot her a disbelieving look. “I mean it,” she continues. “It’s no use if you try to play the perfect gentleman tonight. Be you. That’s who I want to spend my evening with.”

He cracks a smile, charmed at Rory’s reasoning. “Yeah? Shoulda told me that earlier, I would’ve gotten rid of the tie. Mussed up my hair a bit,” he jokes.

Rory plays with his fingers, staring down at her lap. “Keep the tie,” she says quietly, cheeks heating up. “You look handsome with it.”

Jess catches the slight hitch in her voice and snorts. “I knew it,” he teases.

She looks up at him questioningly, and his eyebrows wiggle. “ _This_ ,” he starts, gesturing to tonight’s getup, “is totally doing it for you,” Jess says smugly. “Bet you’re just waiting to rid me of this pesky suit later.”

Rory squawks indignantly. “Shut up!” she cries, releasing his hand and twisting his earlobe.

He chuckles, a low, amused noise caught in his throat, and takes the next exit, humming lightly. “I wasn’t kidding about the coat closet, Gilmore,” he teases again, trying to squash a wave of anxiety as they near the venue entrance.

They wait by the front steps until they spot Luke’s rumbling green Chevy pull up.

“Come on, come on,” Lorelai sings, a biting smile on her lips. “Time for our flagellation, boys.”

Rory grabs for Jess’ hand and leans in, whispering conspiratorially. “There’s an open bar,” and Jess can’t tell if she’s offering this information in warning or encouragement.

He swallows a sigh and presses a kiss to her temple as they climb the steps, entering the grandest foyer Jess has ever laid eyes on. “Let’s get this over with,” he mutters under his breath.

* * *

It turns out Hartford’s finest party pretty hard and very liberally—judging by the swell of the big band music and the flowing champagne. Jess snatches two glasses from a passing waiter and hands one to Rory, who slings it back like some seasoned bar patron. She places the empty flute at the nearby counter and wraps an arm around Jess’ waist.

“Take it easy,” he warns with humor, fingers curling around her shoulder.

She sighs, peeking from the corner of her eye at Christopher. The man’s presence had been a surprise—neither Lorelai nor Rory knew what to make of it. Luke simply worked his jaw, pulling Lorelai to the dance floor to keep their distance from the man. Jess had heard about the passing of Rory’s paternal grandfather, heard about Lorelai checking in on Christopher with a helping hand and a bottle of Tequila. Luke knew all about it, had helped nurse her hangover the next day, but that didn’t mean he was overjoyed by what felt like hostile intrusion. Jess could tell Rory was concerned too. She’d already slipped away to make sure her father was okay and gauge his mood and alcohol intake. It didn’t look good, but she couldn’t fix it here tonight. There had been no great mishaps, but it made Jess uncomfortable all the same. He watched the Gilmores greet Christopher with great zeal, pulling the man into a hug like he was their long lost son. His and Luke’s greetings from the happy couple had been a more muted affair. Richard tried to make conversation, but Luke was wound too tight to respond properly, tugging at his tie like it was a noose.

In contrast, Emily was brusque, eyes sharp and demeanor far less forgiving than that night a few years back, where she’d been playing nice for Rory’s sake. Tonight, she watched Jess with pinched interest, her brittle smile turning sharp when he mentioned his work at Greenlight. His shabby apartment in the Village, his lack of higher education. It didn’t impress, but he hadn’t aimed for that to begin with. He could of course read between the lines; he wasn’t what the eldest Gilmores pictured for their granddaughter, but as always, Jess cared little for pleasantries. He offered information when he was prompted and kept a neutral smile on his face. Rory talked him up, naked pride in her voice when she mentioned he’d read even more than she did, had helped her during the summer with her zine columns, and had brilliant ideas about prose. _That_ piqued Richard’s interest, and Emily nearly had to pull her husband away from a riveting conversation on Hemingway and the quality of his later works.

Rory happily settled beside him all night, shot him a little grin and a damning wink from her place during the ceremony, pulled him onto the dance floor for a song that required little else than soft swaying and closely pressed bodies. He couldn’t ask for much more.

Jess continually keeps an eye on his watch though, and is still looking for reprieve from social responsibilities when Rory nudges into his side and whispers, “Incoming.”

He turns back just as Logan Huntzberger moseys up to him and Rory. “Hey, Ace,” he says with a toothy grin.

The hand around his waist tightens, and she leans further into Jess’ space, her expression neutral. “Hey, Logan,” she responds politely.

Jess still can’t decipher Rory’s feelings towards the man. He’d been an interesting subject for her Life & Death Brigade series, that much he knew, but the heir’s devil-may-care attitude seemed to rankle. Rory mentioned Logan was recently booked with his foolhardy buddies for stealing a yacht from one of New Haven’s country clubs. In the end, Daddy’s money had gotten him out of that bind, but he was still serving suspension from the Yale Daily News.

Logan’s gaze finally slides to Jess, his eyes dismissive. “Hey, man,” he manages, smile a tad bitter and so reminiscent of Emily’s earlier.

Jess forgoes a verbal exchange, nodding mutely and raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement. They guy was a tool, but duking it out at some stuffy vow renewal was hardly a good idea.

Redirecting his attention back to Rory, Logan cocks his head. “Your grandparents sure know how to throw a party,” he complimented.

Rory snorts, fingers absently playing with the seam of Jess’ suit jacket. “Elegant and understated,” she jokes wryly, nerves frayed. Jess runs a pam from the nape of her neck and between her shoulder blades, a grounding presence. Tonight’s theme of all that glitters is gold was getting to him too—the venue too grand, the wide smiles too put on, the chitchat mind numbing. 

The underlying tension flies above Logan’s head, and he simply smiles in return. Jess would be angry at the guy’s obvious interest in Rory if she weren’t so keen on ending the conversation, her eyes flashing up to Jess for a split second in shared annoyance.

“Hey,” Logan continues, “I don’t want to steal you away from your boyfriend, but what do you say to a dance?” he offers, smiling charmingly.

Rory pins Logan with a flat stare. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your date,” she suggests, gesturing to a bored looking socialite the next table over.

An excuse is on Logan’s lips, but Rory is already shaking her head. “No thanks.” Her tone leaves little room for argument, but the man’s gaze is insistent.

Jess clears his throat, features melting into that practiced mask of indifference with an air of faux politeness. “It’s good to see you, man, but we better get going.” His arm curls around Rory’s stomach, pulling her back to his chest. “I’ve gotta see a guy about a coat closet,” he chirps, leaning into her hair, “right, babe?”

The endearment is a new one, ridiculous and sentimental all the same, and it pulls a muffled laugh from Rory’s throat. She beams up at Jess. “Lead the way,” she prompts, hand covering his. She sends one last look to Logan. “Enjoy the party.”

Rory and Jess excuse themselves first, ambling away arm in arm—her hand slipping further and discreetly palming his backside—and Logan is left on his own at the bar, his lips twisting in an annoyed pout.

They make it down one corridor, rounding the corner into an unoccupied room when Rory spins, hands braced on his shoulders. “Hey,” she says softly, “you’re nice.”

Jess quirks a brow, shrugging casually. “I do what I can,” he quips.

“I’m gonna start bringing you to all these events now. You’re like my hunky bodyguard.”

He snorts delicately, doesn’t feel right uttering too loud a sound in this grand building. “Just call me Kevin Costner.”

Rory laughs, a tired though buoyant sound, and molds her body to Jess’, hands clutching at the small of his back, her head tossed against his beating heart. They stay like that for a while, too keyed up for some quickie in this Victorian-themed room, but more than happy to have a moment to themselves, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Jess tips Rory’s chin skyward with a finger and presses a kiss to her lips, deepening it just the slightest when they hear a knock at the door, Lorelai’s head peeking in cautiously, a hand comically covering her eyes.

“You guys decent?” she calls out dramatically.

Rory huffs in her spot, a blush flashing across her cheeks, and Jess can’t help but laugh.

“Mom, please,” she sighs.

Lorelai drops her hand and smirks. “Just checking. ‘Kay, come out now, lovebirds. George and Martha want photos, and then we gotta skedaddle because your father is driving me crazy.”

Rory is already stepping forward, a crease between her brows at the tail end of her mother’s words. “What’s up with Dad?” she asks, pulling Jess from the room and following Lorelai out into the hallway.

Before the older Gilmore can answer, the three of them happen upon the man in question—inebriated beyond measure and enmeshed in a harsh exchange with Luke.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Christopher slurs, hand gesturing wildly.

Jess winces, recognizing the unsteady murkiness in his voice, his posture. Seen it more than enough times on Liz after a weekend bender. He watches in horror as the man gets right up in Luke’s face, who responds immediately, shoving Chris in the shoulder and sneering. His face is a storm, and Jess is reminded that for all of Luke’s recent embracing of new wave zen or his disparaging of physical violence, he’s a strong guy with a tipping point just like anyone else.

Luke’s eyes flash from Chris to the newcomers. “They _are_ my business,” he counters, voice hard. “Lorelai and Rory, I’ve been there longer than all the times you’ve deigned to stroll by on your Harley, pal.”

And it’s too close, Rory’s latest reprimand of Christopher fresh in his mind. He means to surge forward, but Lorelai pulls him back, tone razor sharp. “Christopher!” He ignores her. “Hey,” he barks, “Rory is _my_ daughter. Mine!”

“Oh, yeah?” Luke cuts him off. “Then where were you when she got the chicken pox and would only eat mashed potatoes? Where were you when that first punk dumped her and she was too scared to walk past Doose’s? Where were you when she graduated Valedictorian, when she moved to Yale? I mean you’re standing here, drunk as all hell, wanting to win Lorelai back and ignoring your failure as a flaky father in the same breath? Give me a break!”

Jess’ brain is too muddled to make a move, his throat tightening at the obvious hurt and offense in his uncle’s voice, the protective edge when it comes to Rory a living, breathing thing. He’s humbled by it, he realizes. For all the times Rory urged Jess to treat Luke better—her affection for the gruff man clear—he hadn’t thought about the bigger role his uncle played in her life. He wasn’t some pesky townsperson, not just some overly concerned diner owner either. Luke was Rory’s family.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Chris mutters. “I wasn’t there before but I am now. And I know this world a helluva lot better than you do. What, you rent a tux every now and then, play the happy couple, and think that’s enough? That right, Lor? Well then why do your parents call me son, huh? Why did Emily beg me to come here and knock some sense into you? You and Rory deserve better than this!” He eyes Lorelai desperately, who’s turned ashen at his words.

Jess watches something tragic flash across his uncle’s face, and before he can interject, Rory rushes forward and positions herself between the two men, facing Luke and raising her hands placatingly.

“Luke, please, don’t listen to him. I’m sorry.” She sounds heartbroken, and whatever look passes between them causes a few tears to spring to her eyes, and the sight jumpstarts Jess’ limbs.

He jogs up, placing a calming hand on his uncle’s shoulder and squeezing comfortingly. “Come on. Let’s get some air, cool off,” he suggests quietly.

Luke’s tense form radiates anger but he allows himself to be guided from the venue by Jess, the latter looking over his shoulder and reassuring Rory with a tender look. “Go, take your photos. We’ll be outside.”

He catches her volleying some scathing remark to her father before leading Lorelai towards the main hall, her posture mirroring Jess’ with Luke. He can’t imagine either of the Gilmore girls are in the mood for family photos right now, can’t imagine the rest of the evening ending any other way than Lorelai lunging across the dance floor and ripping Emily’s head off, but he hopes for the best. 

The cool air hits them and Luke finally comes to, shaking from Jess’ hold and breathing roughly through his nose, face tipped up with tired eyes. Jess mirrors his gaze. Pregnant clouds hang low, twinkling stars dotting the night sky like some heavenward backdrop. It’s a beautiful night, he thinks absently. Looks like it might even snow. Under any other circumstances, it would bring a smile to Jess’ face. But here, watching his uncle dejectedly dissolve into what could only be internal spiraling, it feels like sacrilege. That such a shitty thing, a brutal reminder that he and Luke are far removed from what others expect of them, should happen on a beautiful evening feels like a wasted effort. Tonight was supposed to go well.

Jess stuffs his hands into his pockets, fixing Luke with what he hopes is a steady expression. “This isn’t Lorelai’s fault,” he offers quietly.

Luke’s head snaps in his nephew’s direction, eyes hard. “Did I say it was?”

He shrugs. They can play this game if he wants, Jess has always been better at it though. “You’re angry with her. That she dragged you to this thing, that she’s got a foot in this other world, that she’s tied to… _those_ people and their ideals whether she wants to be or not.”

His uncle exhales slowly, eyebrows knitted together. “So where do I fit into all that,” he murmurs after a while, shoulders tense.

Jess works his jaw, trying to find the right words. “You just do,” he offers simply. “You do what you’ve always done, being there for her, making her happy…loving her. That’s enough, don’t let some drunk asshole or petty parents tell you different,” Jess rushes out in a breath, ears burning at the sentimental edge to his voice. “She needs you,” he reminds him. “So does Rory.”

Luke’s eyes hold skepticism, but after a while, he lets out a breath and claps Jess on the shoulder, gaze accepting if not slightly resigned. “You’re a good kid,” he says with uncharacteristic tenderness.

Jess rolls his eyes good-naturedly, thankful a bit of lightheartedness has worked its way into the moment. Before he can say anything else, Lorelai and Rory hastily exit the venue, the older cautiously reaching for Luke’s hand, her face apologetic. Her daughter watches them with shiny eyes, swallowing thickly, and falling into step with Jess.

“You okay?” he murmurs in concern. She’s gone pale.

Rory shrugs in lieu of an answer, suddenly too exhausted to get into it. Leaning forward, she whispers, “Can I stay at the apartment above the diner tonight? I think they should talk.”

He peers behind his shoulder, catches Luke and Lorelai’s heads slightly bowed toward each other, temples nearly touching, his uncle running a hand across the older Gilmore’s cheek in understanding. Jess turns back and nods. “Yeah, of course.”

Rory musters a tiny smile, slipping her hand into his and sighing. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays & happy new year! thanks for reading ^^  
> (a lil more fluff than usual, but this time of year calls for it)

Christmas is a lighthearted, muted affair. It had to be, what with the Gilmore-Danes clan still reeling from Emily and Richard’s vow renewal. The night was put behind them, as the elder Gilmores left for their second honeymoon, and any attempts at communication were immediately nipped in the bud. Calls and emails went unanswered and plenty of postcards were dumped in the recycling bin. Instead, Rory and her mother looked forward to some much-needed yuletide cheer. The day started quietly—a National Lampoon’s movie marathon while shotgunning eggnog and munching on gingerbread cookies and red vines. Soon enough, Jess and Luke met them at the house with a horde of ingredients for lunch and dinner. Lorelai invited Sookie and Jackson over, with little Davey dressed as a miniature Santa in tow. And they all watched in delight as the two cooks fought for space in Lorelai’s humble kitchen, arguing over glaze recipes and roast temperatures. When Luke tried to cajole Jess into playing his sous chef, he merely snorted and pilfered a beer from the fridge.

“Not a chance,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way back to Rory on the couch.

“Coward,” Luke hisses back, and Jess smiles. He’s not scared of Sookie, per say—the portly woman had a wacky sense of humor and a sweet disposition—but he knew she didn’t play games when it came to food. He’d rather not have to duke it out with her. Too many cooks in the kitchen and all that.

Rory is watching amusedly from her spot on the couch, Davey squirming in her arms as he teethes on a corner of a throw blanket and tugs at her hair. She grunts theatrically, blowing a raspberry to his pudgy cheek in retaliation.

Jess settles beside them, half listening to Jackson lament about the poor persimmon crop this season and instead opting to watch Rory try to wrangle the little hellion in her arms. The sight of them sends something hurtling in his chest. He files it away for later analysis, mentally scolding himself for the sudden wistfulness that invades his heart.

When Davey crawls from Rory’s grasp and throws himself across Jess’ torso in an effort to get to his father, his brain short circuits. He looks around helplessly, suspecting that anyone with reason would pluck the child from his general vicinity, but Jackson simply coos, making goofy faces at his son.

Jess flounders and looks over at Rory, just in time for her to snap a photo with her phone.

“Delete that,” he warns, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as he places an awkward grip on Davey’s side to keep him from falling.

“Nah-uh,” she sing songs. “We need something for next year’s Christmas cards.”

Jackson observes them with an amused chuckle, smiling at his progeny in a way that only a parent could and easily tossing Davey over his shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. I think you’ve caused enough mischief for today.” He shoots the pair a grin and joins his wife in the kitchen.

Jess’ eyes follow them with a resigned expression. It prickled his spine to witness the casual intimacy between Sookie and Jackson and their newborn. Between his uncle and Lorelai too. He’d missed out on all this before. It was entirely too foreign, he realizes. Like flexing some unused muscle, wracking his brain for the appropriate, well-adjusted reaction. Jess wonders if it’ll always be like this, just guessing at life.

He turns back and catches Rory’s gaze. There’s no pity in her eyes, but a practiced recognition instead. _She gets it,_ Jess surmises. Maybe she was thinking about Lorelai in the moment. Or Christopher. Not for the first time, Jess considers their similar circumstances. Single mother, absent dad, losing themselves in the world of books. Except for all his escapism, Jess had grown up not knowing the first thing about having a family, and Rory had become too adept at building her own.

Jess shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek to hide his own expression. He feels roughspun and raw all of a sudden. He blames it on the holiday; not even the grinch himself could withstand this sentimental time of year.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Rory murmurs, settling closer to Jess’ side and running a hand up his ribcage.

“This is nice,” he says finally, simply, gesturing to it all. The twinkling tree, the wild poinsettia garland, the gaggle of adults laughing boisterously in the kitchen.

A warm blush works its way across Rory’s cheeks, and she smiles winsomely. “Jess Mariano, as I live and breathe,” she says, donning her best Scarlett O’Hara voice. “Enjoying a day of good cheer and socializing? A Christmas miracle!” she crows sweetly.

Jess wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her forward, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “ _You’re_ my Christmas miracle,” he says dramatically, cheesy expression put on.

Rory snorts, laughing into his neck. “Shut up!”

Halting footsteps pull them from the moment.

“Luke!” Lorelai calls from the hallway. “These here young’uns are canoodling on my couch! Remedy this immediately, sir!”

There’s a devious smile on her face, and Jess resists the urge to lob something snarky in her direction. The intricacies of the older Gilmore’s brain are still a mystery to him. He can keep up with her wit—gotten enough practice with Rory—but Lorelai’s mind was a bag of cats, neurons firing every which way, aided and abetted by copious amounts of coffee.

Before Rory can reply, Luke’s gruff voice is heard from the kitchen. “Get your butts in here and help set the table,” he calls out. “Make out on your own time.”

Rory pulls Jess from the sofa and drags him down the hallway, laughing over his grumbling and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“Sap,” he says with a smile.

“You love it.”

* * *

After a filling meal and an acceptable amount of time lazing around the tree and exchanging gifts, Rory and Jess beg off to sit on the porch love seat, sharing a mug of mulled wine and reading. The sky has turned into pretty shades of violet and marigold, a smattering of snow clings to the treetops surrounding the Gilmore house, and a slight windchill is made bearable as the pair huddle beneath a heavy woolen blanket. It’s picturesque in a way that would’ve grated on teenage Jess, but here in this moment, he finds calm.

His mind wanders, noting how cautiously content Luke looked today, surrounded by family and friends. There was still a bit of tension from the night of the vow renewal, a bit of uncertainty that must’ve settled in his chest regarding Lorelai and his place in her life. But they were working on it, that much he knew. Lorelai wouldn’t let her parents come between them, Jess suspects. Figures if she had the foresight to leave that gilded cage at age sixteen, she’d do whatever it takes to protect her life now. And according to Rory, her mother made that very clear to Luke. She was all in.

It makes Jess hopeful, he realizes. To see someone he cared about get the life he deserved. He wonders if he oughtta return the favor. If it were only fair that Jess do something more and show his uncle he was capable too. _You just have to let yourself have it,_ Rory had said.

He’s trying to get through a chapter of _As I Lay Dying_ for a third time when Rory squeals in her place, jostling the warm hub they’ve created and springing down the front steps. Jess peers across the front lawn and sees Lane ambling towards the house, stopping short and receiving an enthusiastic bear hug from the younger Gilmore. It’s only Dave’s supporting hand that keeps the pair from tumbling into the snowy grass. Jess’ eyes widen; it’s been a while since he’s seen Dave Rygalski. In fact, the last time was the night of Kyle’s party, when Dean’s sucker punch hurled Jess into the unsuspecting guitarist. He winces, quickly rising and making his way towards the newcomers, resolved to apologize at some point.

“You’re back!” Rory exclaims, hands braced on her best friend’s shoulders. Her excited gaze slides to Dave, a knowing smile on her face. “And you brought home a boy, how scandalous.”

Lane laughs, her cheeks coloring as she squeezes Rory’s hands before stepping back and nudging Dave’s shoulder. “Yeah, well, you know me. Full of surprises,” she jokes.

“That you are,” he says, looking down at her with a smile far too adoring for outside eyes. He remembers himself then, clearing his throat and nodding towards Rory. “It’s good to see you again,” he offers genially, and she returns the sentiment. When Jess crosses the lawn, Dave smiles wider, doesn’t look the least bit surprised. He must’ve gotten the scoop from Lane. “Hey, man.”

Jess nods, mouth pulling up in a half smirk. “Hey.”

“Almost didn’t recognize you without a trail of destruction in your wake,” he adds easily.

“My fighting days are over,” Jess quips.

“You’ve gone soft on us, Mariano,” Lane laments, her lips itching to smile. She pulls him into an uncharacteristic hug then, firm hands patting him on the back.

Jess is shocked, to say the least. They’ve crossed paths more than enough times since he and Rory got back together. Settled into an easy friendship, even. Neither was the touchy feely type, though. But Lane looks lighter after her trip, happier than Jess has ever seen her, and the look on Rory’s face right now at their shared connection is enough to settle his heart. She’s positively beaming.

She pulls him closer by the pocket of his pants, running a warm hand between his shoulder blades and humming happily. Redirecting her attention to Dave, Rory smiles. “You here for a bit?” she asks.

“Spending the last week of my break in town. I couldn’t deal with Christmas in California. The palm trees and constant sunshine and shoes full of sand are a buzzkill.”

“Sand sucks,” Jess agrees, mouth pulling into a frown at the memory of finding fistfuls of the stuff at the bottom of his duffle bag.

Lane snorts, cocking her head and appraising him carefully. “I can’t even imagine you on a beach.”

“That’s what I said!” Rory chortles, the both of them falling into a fit of giggles.

Jess and Dave exchange a longsuffering look, but the whole exchange is warm. Unfamiliar but good.

Lorelai blusters through the front door at that moment, taking in the scene before her and smiling widely. “Well, well, well!”

“Hi Lorelai,” Lane calls out, waving excitedly.

“Hey yourself, kid. How was California?” She eyes Lane’s companion warmly. “Good, I take it?”

The pair hem and haw, sporting matching blushes, and causing the older Gilmore to cackle.

“What’s going on?” they hear Luke ask from the house.

“More hooligans,” Lorelai replies. “Come in, you guys hungry?”

“Yes,” Dave answers immediately. At everyone’s questioning gaze, he shrugs. “Mrs. Kim still likes her tofu. I’m starving, sue me.”

Rory leads them up the front steps, Jess in back. “We’ve got ham and turkey and cheesy potatoes,” she starts to list.

“And three different kinds of quiche!” Sookie calls out.

As they make their way inside the house, Jess quickly grabs the throw blanket and stray mug from the porch. He hears another roar of laughter and excited garbles across the threshold, and he smiles despite himself.

 _This is nice_ , he thinks again.

* * *

It took a lot of convincing and nearly drafting a written document from Jess that he wouldn’t burn the diner down, but in the end, Luke and Lorelai left for their two week vacation to Lake Placid. It was Rory’s idea, her and Jess’ Christmas present for the pair. They needed some time away, she insisted.

(Jess knows they’ve been doing better, but that night still rankles. Rory tells him that after the blowup with Christopher, Lorelai stood stiffly at Emily’s side and smiled for a photo or two before whispering something that made the woman’s face go ashen. Still, attempts to reach out continued. Her mother happened to catch the tail end of one post card, something vague and blithe from Emily about ‘doing what was best,’ and Lorelai immediately ripped the thing to shreds. The happy couple would be getting back soon, and Rory didn’t want them dropping by unexpectedly. Didn’t want Christopher to find his resolve and try his hand at reconciliation either. No, Lorelai and Luke were safer away from prying eyes and awful schemes.)

Jess applies for leave from Greenlight to cover shifts at the diner, and Rory spends the last dregs of her winter break watching over things at the Dragonfly. On their last night covering in Stars Hollow, they settle into the apartment above Luke’s, bone tired.

“I’m too exhausted to even eat,” Rory mutters, affronted at the idea. She kicks off her shoes and falls back on Jess’ bed with a drawn out _oomph!_

He watches her from the table, amused but equally drained. “There’s boysenberry pie,” he offers quietly.

Rory is tempted, but ends up turning in her spot and making grabby hands at him instead. “Come here,” she breathes. “We need sleep.”

Jess acquiesces, undoing his belt buckle and shucking off his pants and t-shirt before settling in bed. He watches her strip off her pencil skirt and button up, pull on an old sleep shirt of his and sweep her hair into a messy bun. When Rory returns from the washroom, she worms her way under the covers and clings to his lithe form, sighing contentedly. (It’s a tight fit, it was even when it was just Jess sleeping on this single mattress. And now he and Rory basically slept on top of each other. But for all the time they spend in this apartment, they never go near Luke’s bigger bed. _“Eugh,” Jess grunted one night, retching at the thought. “I’m just kidding,” Rory laughed, chucking a pillow at his face. “You’ve just given me nightmares for life, Gilmore,” he grumbled._ )

They lay quietly for a moment, minds overworked and bodies numb. After a while, Jess knocks her knee with his, prompting her to speak.

“There was a delay with the linen delivery,” Rory begins, the ghost of a smile on her face. “And then we were overbooked, and the computer system crashed and Geek Squad made a big deal about coming out to fix it, and I had to twist Michel’s arm to keep him from tackling one of the mouthier guests. I don’t know how my mother does this,” she finishes with a tired chuckle.

Jess laughs, imagining Rory and Michel in a tense stand-off. She could take the Frenchman.

“How ‘bout you,” she whispers. “How was your day?”

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “Kirk sent his food back four times, he said there was a particular way Luke made his PB&Js and I wasn’t _adhering to protocol_ ,” he says with air quotes, mouth twisting up in a sneer. “I threatened to have his mother pick him up if he didn’t settle down. Then we ran out of ham and I considered having Ceasar sew some bacon together. I ordered the wrong set of kitchenware, and I had to browbeat them for a full refund. I was locked in some customer service hell for over an hour. I’m never doing this again.”

Rory huffs a muted laugh by his side. “Poor baby.”

Jess slides further into bed, resting his head against her collarbone and shutting his eyes. “I’ve learned something very valuable these last two weeks,” he offers sluggishly.

“Would you like to share with the class,” Rory murmurs, running her fingers through his hair and nearly lulling him to sleep.

Jess recently had it cut, his wild tresses falling shorter at the base of his neck. It was bittersweet, watching him style it up like he often did as a teenager. But coupled with the usual five o’clock shadow he sported these days, it had a decidedly different effect. The facial hair really did it for her. He was… _sexy_ , she thought haltingly. Maybe Jess would even spring for a beard one day. She inwardly snorts, who would’ve thought Rory Gilmore would simper for the whole Mountain Man look. Jess was making her crazy. She’s pulled from her thoughts when he speaks again, voice a little clearer.

“No matter how many times I come back to this town, no matter how many shifts I cover on the weekend, I could not do this for the long haul,” he breathes. He wonders how Luke doesn’t go mad here. The monotony of this storybook town, the quirky characters, the annoying details of food service. Jess knows his uncle is a creature of habit, but still…

Rory hums. “I know what you mean,” she murmurs.

And that surprises Jess, it’s rare that Rory isn’t singing Stars Hollow’s praises, even as she grew more independent at Yale and with Jess in New York. He raises his head and appraises her carefully. “You think you’ll end up here later?” he wonders aloud. “After school, I mean.”

Rory’s gaze goes heavenward as she chews on her lip. “Do you know of any overseas correspondents based out of small town Connecticut,” she jokes quietly.

Jess shrugs, mouth pulling into a conceding smile. They stew on it for a while before Rory speaks again.

“I love this place, it’ll always be home. But when I picture myself in a few years’ time, I’m always leaving,” she admits.

“And where do you go,” he murmurs, fingers running up her temple and across her browbone, smoothing out the little frown that’s starting to form between her eyes.

Rory circles his wrist and breathes out a laugh. They do this too often, she mentally rebukes. Ardently caught up in a serious mood when they consider the future. It’s good to have plans, she knows. Rory spent the better part of her youth perfecting them and excitedly weighing options, but as the scope of her and Jess’ lives widen, it’s less like daydreaming and more like looking over a cliff’s edge. There are simply too many variables.

She shrugs, trying to play it casual. “I don’t know,” she chirps. “But in every scenario, you’re always there,” Rory responds sweetly. Even winks for added effect.

Jess doesn’t quite take the bait, but he smiles generously anyway. Smacks a light kiss to her cheek.

“What about you,” Rory considers. “What’s Jess Mariano’s grand plan?” She pitches it like some magnificent thing, and not for the first time, he’s taken with her blind faith in him—her conviction that he’ll do something great with his life. It sends Jess’ heart leaping in his chest. He swallows thickly and sits up, causing Rory to mimic his position. He grabs her hand, interlocking their fingers, and searches for the right words.

He tells her about Philadelphia then, eyes locked on a spot above her shoulder so he doesn’t lose his nerve or get sideswiped by Rory’s penetrating gaze. Jess lays everything out; the no-name publishing house, the enthusiastic if not certifiable guys heading Truncheon, the job offer, and finally, the possibility of completing and editing a work of his own. A Jess Mariano original. (She’s not at all surprised to hear about his writing. “I know you’ve been working on stuff.” “What, how?” “I’m your girlfriend, freak,” she chided. “I notice things.”) It all sounds ridiculous to his ears, bubbling from his lips with an air of disbelief. And when Jess finally chances a peek at Rory, the look on her face is too much for him to decipher. Equal parts stunned, excited, melancholic, and resigned, he thinks.

“I haven’t given them an answer,” Jess rushes to explain. “I mean, I like my day job, and there are things to consider,” he says delicately before Rory interjects.

“You have to do it,” she says simply, squeezing his hand with urgency. “Jess, this is—” Rory swallows, “this is an amazing opportunity. You have to go.”

“I can’t just up and leave again,” he blurts, but she’s already shaking her head.

“You’re not,” she insists. “This isn’t like before. You’re not running, you’re going after something you want. Something you could be _great_ at. You shouldn’t feel guilty about that,” Rory says softly.

Jess’ chest aches all of a sudden. It somehow feels like goodbye—before he’s even agreed or said the word _Yes_ out loud. In a rare moment of vulnerability, he wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

“I’d have to move to Philly,” he mutters. “New York is already far enough from Connecticut.”

Rory rears back and fixes him with a playful stare. “You know, I believe they’ve got these new-fangled inventions called cars and cellphones these days,” she jokes, poking a finger between his ribs.

He can’t quite muster a smile though, so Rory leans in, gently knocking her forehead to his. “We’ll figure it out, Jess. It’ll be okay.”

“You really think I can do this,” he mumbles. He’s not sure which answer he’s hoping for. He knows if she says the word, he’d stay by her side forever.

Rory leans back and gifts Jess with a beautiful smile—all generous and radiant. “I do.”

He goes bashful, resting a palm at the underside of her jaw and grunting something in acceptance.

“When would you have to go?” she asks, already working out schedules and to-do lists in her head.

“Would have to be sometime in March,” Jess begins. “I’ve got my GED test at the end of February, so—”

“What!” Rory blurts, shoving her face forward. She’s almost vibrating from the anticipation.

Jess flushes, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck self-consciously. “Did I not mention that…” he mutters, trailing off awkwardly.

Any further discussion is postponed, as Rory quite literally jumps into his arms, landing on top of Jess with an excited shriek and grinning into a dizzying kiss. She teases his mouth open with her tongue and tugs the hair at the back of his head, causing him to groan appreciatively. Jess slots a thigh between her splayed legs and runs a hand up her torso to cup at her breast, urgency and exaltation and something decidedly more somber in his touch.

Rory catches onto his mood. Straddles his hips and looks down at him with warmth.

“It’ll be okay,” she reassures again, lips curling in a soft smile as she tugs her shirt over her head. She grinds down on his hardness with a beautiful fluidity. “You believe me?” Rory murmurs.

Jess presses a hot palm to the dip at her waist. “I believe you,” he breathes.

* * *

Jess shoves the books and stray notes from his bed with a grunt, eyes growing tired as the words begin to swim on the page. He’s got a few weeks until his big test, and every moment he wasn’t busy with work or Rory or the stray request from Luke to help him fix something up at the diner was spent studying. It had been easy going at first; he remembers these subjects from high school well enough and had the added benefit of actually being invested in doing well this time. But there was a still a strange rigidity to the curriculum, a formulaic process to learning that irritated Jess to no end.

Rory tried to help him through it, could see the increasing tightness in his shoulders at juggling so much at a time. She figured studying sessions were the best way to lend a hand. But it was too easy to get distracted with her around, Jess soon realized. Nothing quite as silly as card tricks or ice cream runs, but he’d find himself watching her raptly. The soft line of her neck, the gentle slope of her collarbone, the necklace he’d gotten her for Christmas hanging prettily against the ivory of her skin. She’d reach over to point something out in his prep book, and Jess would immediately catch her in a bruising kiss—longing and desire invading his every sense. When Rory resorted to putting large physical objects between them to keep from falling into bed, Jess knew it was no use.

Instead, she left him concise notes in the margins of his study material, little tips to help organize his thoughts and memorize proofs and such. She left him baskets filled to the brim with snacks and energy drinks with post-it notes littered inbetween, encouraging phrases scrawled in her pretty penmanship. On weekends, Rory often perched the care packages on his kitchen counter before whisking away to meet Paris at some Midtown hangout.

“Stay,” Jess urged.

“I’m meeting Paris soon. You know she needs some cheering up,” Rory said gently. Asher had passed away after the start of the new year. Geller was still in the dumps and Rory was playing the supportive friend role to a tee. “Plus, you don’t need the distraction,” she adds.

“I _don’t_ get distracted,” he lied.

Rory halted from her spot by the door. “Okay, horndog,” she tossed over her shoulder. Her expression melted into a gentler smile. “Remember to take breaks.”

So Jess settled into his umpteenth night of studying solo. The material stuck; he could probably work his way through the Maths and English sections with his eyes closed. But it was tiring all the same. He blindly reaches for his watch and looks at the time. He’s got a good hour or two before Chris and Matt drop by. They’ve been in constant communication since Jess agreed to this whole Philadelphia situation. Jess stopped by Truncheon a few weeks ago to iron out the finer details and get a cursory look at the manuscripts up for consideration. It was a good meeting, and the trio have been exchanging rambling emails and phone calls since then like a couple of kids. _“You guys are like pen pals,”_ Rory observed sweetly. That made the tips of his ears burn. Jess was still getting used to having friends, as ridiculous as it sounded. He never imagined his personal circle widening this much. He’d grown close to Lane, and by extension Dave, and now with the Truncheon duo in the mix…Jess shakes his head, a wry smile playing at his lips. Teenage him would probably balk at the current direction of his life. Disbelief and pride swirl in his chest. He’s gonna make this work.

Jess rises from his bed and gladly stows away his books and notes for the night, allowing himself an hour of mind numbing TV before showering. He’s finishing up with the product in his hair when thunderous knocking rains down on his door.

He throws it open with a scowl. “Geez, you’re gonna break the thing.”

Matt’s answering smile is highly amused. “There’s our city boy!”

Chris nudges past him and claps a hand on Jess’ shoulder. “Hey, man.” And Jess returns the greeting.

Matt is already scouring his apartment, an inquisitive expression on his face as he exclaims at this or that. “First edition Faulkner! You asshole, how did you score this?”

Jess rolls his eyes and ushers them out the door, leaning towards Chris conspiratorially. “How much has he had to drink,” he murmurs.

“Matthew is completely sober, believe it or not.”

“You lie.”

They jog down the apartment building steps, trying to reign in Matt’s excitement. “When he drinks, you’ll know it.”

Matt turns back to them, kicking his leg in Chris’ direction. “Don’t make me sound like such a lush.”

“I’ve picked you up from enough bar bathroom floors to pass judgment, idiot,” Chris parries back.

“This is gonna be a long night,” Jess surmises.

The duo shrugs, eyes glinting mischievously.

* * *

“You two are the world’s worst wingmen!” Matt cries dramatically as they reenter Jess’ apartment, dropping jackets and boots by the small entryway.

Jess has half a mind to chuck his wallet at Matt’s head, but he’s too amused to be genuinely miffed. Tonight proved as rowdy as he initially expected. After getting their fill of food, they stopped by Wayland’s and a few other bars in the East Village. It felt strange to frequent these places—and not have to use his fake ID too—but Jess enjoyed himself, witnessing firsthand Matt’s eccentric game. What the man lacked in tact, he made up for in enthusiasm and amorous literary references. While he talked up some NYU underclassman, crooning and gesticulating wildly, Chris snorted into his beer.

“He’s like a modern day bard,” Jess observed.

“You know Paul Bettany’s character in _A Knight’s Tale_? That was based offa Matt,” Chris jokes. 

A slew of girls made eyes at Jess, and his expression morphed into one of indifference. He didn’t like the attention, and tried to talk up Chris instead, who got a few numbers from it. A while later, they caught Matt leaning charmingly against the bar counter, face damn near glowing.

“Is he always so…I don’t know, sun-shines-out-my-ass about life?” Jess wondered.

Chris’ eyes turned slightly somber. “His parents were always on his case about this or that, that is when they weren’t ignoring him. He’s come a long way,” he says simply, shrugging.

Jess considered that. Maybe they all had more in common then he realized.

In the end, they had to wrangle Matt from following some Victorian studies major back to her dorm, gently guiding him towards the subway like he was some drunk toddler.

Chris shoves Matt into the couch now, laughing at his put out expression and asking Jess for some stray sheets and blankets. As the night winds down, Jess pulls a few beers from his fridge and listens amusedly as they get into a debate about the Lord of the Rings series, of all things. He interjects here and there; he’d just finished _The Hobbit_ after all.

Matt rises and paces throughout the apartment to make his point, when he stops short by Jess’ dresser. A large mirror is perched on top, stray post-it notes stuck here and there, and a photo of Rory is jammed between the crease of the wood frame and the glass. It’s from before Christmas, when Jess spent a weekend with her at Yale during her finals week. She’s wearing one of his shirts, a hand cocked at her hip, as she smiles for the camera. It was rare for her to grin so openly, Jess noted. It was why he snapped the photo in the first place. He’s got another one, more compromising and sweet, stuffed in the folds of the wallet. A look crosses Matt’s face as he carefully plucks the photo from its spot and examines it.

Jess watches him curiously.

“This her?” he asks.

“Who?”

“Your great aunt,” Matt deadpans, causing them all to laugh. “Your girlfriend, genius.”

Jess swallows. He hasn’t talked about her much with the guys. Wouldn’t even know how to do her justice with his description. “Yeah,” he confirms simply. “Rory.”

“How long have you been together?” Chris asks.

Jess thinks back to passing glances, secret kisses, hot and heavy teenage love, and then a year of limbo. He shrugs. “A while,” he offers vaguely.

Matt places the photo back and turns to him with a knowing smirk. “And she’s your muse for what you’re writing,” he guesses. “Ah, love, the greatest inspiration.”

Jess tosses a potato chip in his direction and snorts. “Do your drunken nights often end with sappy introspection? Give me some warning, Casanova.”

Chris leans back against the sofa cushions and smirks. “How’s your stuff going, anyway? We’re still waiting for your manuscript.”

He clams up, the tips of his ears burning. “No more shop talk,” he mutters, sidestepping the conversation by slipping into the bathroom to change. He hears Matt call out to him.

“Fine, but when you get published and top the New York Times Bestseller list, you better thank us in your dedication!”

* * *

Rory listens to the last bit of a voicemail from Jess, smiling over his grumbled though amused tone as he gives her a rundown of his night with Matt and Chris. She’s excited to meet them, wants to see the trio that’ll take the publishing world by storm. She’s got her phone pinched between her ear and shoulder as she organizes her things at her desk in the newsroom, collating a few working drafts and highlighting certain edits from Doyle on her recent piece. When she clicks her phone shut and rifles through her bag for some stray notes, she turns back and is greeted by none other than Mitchum Huntzberger.

The older man is perched casually by her desk, hands clasped behind his back. The shock on Rory’s face must be evident, because he laughs knowingly and jerks his head towards Logan’s usual desk.

“Had to pick up some things for the boy to work on at home. What with his suspension and all,” Mitchum explains.

Rory swallows the urge to grimace. Logan’s antics were getting old, and she could tell he did it less to aggravate and more for attention or distraction from his eventual responsibilities. The fact that Mitchum bailed him out each time didn’t sit well with her. She nods mutely.

“Gilmore, right?”

“Yes, sir. Rory.”

Mitchum nods, an easy smile on his face. “Emily and Richard are lovely, they must be very proud of you.”

It rankles. She still hasn’t spoken to her grandparents, is dreading their return from Europe next week and the continuation of Friday night dinners. Plus, while they _are_ proud, she didn’t like the insinuation they were the only ones supporting Rory. A lot of people were proud of her, a lot of others had been there for her too. She slaps a polite smile on her face and murmurs something in thanks.

“You know,” Mitchum starts, “I’ve heard a great deal about you from Logan. You’ve certainly made an impression. Tell me, what kind of work are you hoping to pursue?”

“International journalism,” she immediately responds.

He blows out a low puff of air. “Heavy stuff. Well, you won’t see much action from the Yale Daily News on that. One of my papers has an internship opening,” he offers. “How about it, Rory?”

She blanches, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a slightly somber transition chapter, but with some interesting conversations!  
> (that slice of life tag is for real...i like delving into the mundane)

Emily and Richard don’t look particularly surprised to see only Rory attending dinner that Friday night. They do a good job of hiding any discomfort though and jovially usher their granddaughter inside, offering her a club soda and prattling on about Europe. Throughout the evening Rory is indifferent, responding when prompted but barely looking up from her plate. When dessert is served, Emily clears her throat and tries to engage her in conversation, looking at Rory eagerly.

“I had dinner with some ladies from my tea club the other day, and they mentioned Mitchum Huntzberger personally offered you an internship. I was thrilled, that’s wonderful Rory!” she gushes, eyes darting to her husband.

Richard lifts his cup in cheers, beaming. “It certainly is!”

Rory looks up, eyebrows furrowed. She still can’t believe Emily’s reach of information even after she left Chilton. “I’m not doing it,” she says simply.

Emily’s face goes slack. “What?” 

“I declined the internship,” Rory utters clearly, delicately refolding her napkin over her lap.

“Nonsense,” her grandmother breathes. “There’s no better opportunity. People would kill for a chance from the Huntzberger family, young lady. They’ve got a hand in every news endeavor on the eastern seaboard.”

Rory bristles. “Thank you for the breakdown, Grandma, but I’m not interested and I already told Mitchum as much.”

“Richard!” Emily splutters, looking across the table helplessly.

“Now, Rory...” he starts carefully.

She pins her grandfather with as even a look as she can muster. “No. I appreciate the offer, but I already have something lined up, and I’m not going to drop that for some media big wig,” Rory mutters.

Richard places his cutlery down and leans forward, eyes inquisitive. “ _What_ do you have lined up?”

Rory swallows, looking between her grandparents. It’s the first time she’s spoken about it. “A visiting professor at Yale needs help publishing his recent findings after working on war tribunals with the ICC. He writes for an independent paper in Boston, and he’s doing a series of columns on it. I’d be working with him starting next term.”

Her grandfather looks impressed, if not slightly cautious. “An interesting position,” he considers.

“At an independent paper!” Emily exclaims. “Rory, you go to a prestigious school, you could be doing so much more,” she stresses, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“I _am_ doing more,” Rory defends. “Just because it’s not something you can brag about to your D.A.R. friends...”

The change in her grandmother’s demeanor is immediate, any of the earlier saccharine niceties melting away. “Watch your tone,” Emily responds icily. “You’ve been in a mood all evening, you’ve hardly said two words to me—"

“What did you expect, Grandma?” Rory asks incredulously, tossing her napkin to the table. She’s tired of avoiding the elephant in the room. “Did you really think I’d come over and we’d have a nice dinner like always? Do you realize how much you hurt mom, do you care?”

Emily’s mouth settles into a grim line, her eyes hard. “What I did for your mother, I did out of concern.”

“That’s bullshit,” Rory responds lowly, throat closing up in anger.

“Rory,” Richard scolds. 

She watches him with disappointment. “I don’t know how much of a hand you had in this, Grandpa, but,” Rory turns to Emily, “what you did, you did with snobbery and selfishness and no regard for us.”

“Us?”

“Luke is mine too,” she says haltingly, staring down at her shaking hands. “He’s been there since the beginning. You’d know that if you bothered to listen instead of fantasizing about some perfect family with Christopher. Now, I know we have an agreement, and I’ll continue to come to these dinners, but I do _not_ have to be pleasant or pretend you didn’t mess up. The both of you owe Mom and Luke an apology,” Rory warns, looking between them with quiet fury. “I think I’ll go now.” She takes advantage of the shocked look on her grandparents’ faces and rises quickly, grabbing for her coat and purse and rushing out the door.

It’s only when she reaches her car does she hear her grandfather call out, but Rory doesn’t spare them another glance. For all that they’ve done for her, Rory can’t reconcile their actions with the pain she and her mother have nursed the past few weeks. For their sake, Rory hopes this is resolved soon.

* * *

She only makes it a few miles outside of Hartford before pulling onto some residential street, killing the engine and taking a few deep breaths. It felt good to put her grandmother in her place, but confrontation still isn’t Rory’s strong suit. Her stomach churns at their argument. And this issue with Mitchum’s offer...she grimaces, hoping she made the right decision. That day in the newsroom, Rory stuttered through a mumbled thank you but no thank you and Huntzberger looked momentarily stunned before smiling broadly. The unspoken _your loss_ was clear in his demeanor, but he politely bid her goodbye and wished her luck, and that was that. 

She sighs now, fishing her phone from the cup holder and dialing Jess’ number before she can stop herself.

He answers after the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Jess parrots, voice warm.

Rory isn’t sure what to say next, and a pregnant pause hangs in the air between them.

“I take it dinner with the grandparents went well.”

“Oh yeah,” she mutters, examining her fingernails. “It was a regular Norman Rockwell painting.”

There’s an edge to her voice and Jess hesitates, trying to decipher her state of mind. “Rory.”

And something in his tone breaks her—the gentle insistence, the steadiness. It opens the floodgates and before she knows it, Rory is crying in earnest. Fat tears collect at the corner of her eyes and run down her ruddy cheeks. Muffled sobs wrack her chest and the force of it pitches her body forward. Rory leans against her steering wheel and breathes roughly through her nose, clenching her eyes shut. It feels foreign, she soon realizes, this outburst of emotion. Despite her penchant for rambling and spiraling panic, Rory is, for the most part, a study in outward composure. _You have to wallow_ , Lorelai once suggested. _Shoving it away and making lists won’t fix it_. She considers her mother’s words now. What is she mourning exactly, Rory wonders.

It’s silent on the other end of the line save for the crackly static and Jess’ quiet breaths. When her gasping sobs abate, she hears him swallow thickly.

“Rory,” he grits out in concern. “Where are you? I’ll meet you—"

“No,” she murmurs. “I’m okay.”

He says her name again, like it hurts, and she rushes to explain.

“Really, I feel better. Crying is pretty cathartic,” Rory jokes lamely, wiping at her cheeks and cracking a small grin. “Psychologists are really onto something with that.”

Jess sighs. “What’s going on?” he asks gently.

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts. “It’s everything,” she mumbles. “My grandparents live in a bubble, my dad is an idiot, and my mom…” Rory swallows. “She’s scared to hold on to a good thing,” she admits. “If I’m not careful I’m gonna turn out worse. It’s why I’m trying to do something different, why I didn’t take Logan’s dad up on his offer, but what if I’m choosing wrong, what if this all blows up in my face—"

“Rory,” Jess interrupts. “What offer?” he asks quietly. “With Logan’s dad.”

“He—Mitchum Huntzberger—he stopped by the newsroom a few weeks ago and said there was a junior internship at one of his papers. He asked if I wanted it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rory winces, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “You have a lot going on. What with work, and studying, and getting ready for your move to Philly. I didn’t want to bug you with this,” she says in a small voice.

She can hear Jess audibly sigh in frustration. “I think,” he begins carefully, “given our history, it’s probably best we don’t keep things from each other.”

She fiddles with the sleeve of her dress, rubbing the lace embroidery between her thumb and forefinger. “I guess you’re right,” Rory concedes.

“So what’s the plan?” Jess asks after a while.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you’re not taking this…Mitchum’s—that’s _not_ a name, by the way—internship, what are you gonna do instead?” He pitches the question easily, as if it’s no great tragedy Rory passes on this offer, and she instantly feels better. Not for the first time, she’s thankful Jess exists outside the bubble.

Rory smiles into her phone. “I have other things to work on,” she reassures, promising to explain everything further when she sees him this weekend.

“I feel like a jerk for leaving,” Jess admits.

“What, why?”

“Because. You’ve got important stuff going on, and I can’t even—I’m gonna be even further away now,” he huffs.

“Jess, we talked about this,” Rory says gently.

“I know, cellphones and cars,” he breathes out humorlessly. “But—”

“It won’t be easy,” she interrupts. “But not impossible. We’ll figure it out.”

“I didn’t even ask you about school. I was all wrapped up in my own bullshit. Hell, we even talked about Matt’s conquests before your own things,” Jess berates himself. Rory can picture him hunched over in bed, carding his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

“Well,” Rory begins, keeping her tone light, “I _was_ curious after all. You said that Victorian studies major looked half in love with him.”

Jess snorts. “That’s only because he was quoting Keats to her. I thought Chris was gonna haul his ass from the bar.”

Rory throws her head back and laughs. “They sound fun. I wanna meet them.”

“They wanna meet you too. They ask about you all the time.”

She taps a finger to her chin in consideration. “Yeah? And what have you told them?” she asks cheekily.

“That you’re too good for me,” Jess answers easily.

“Uh-huh. Flattery will get you nowhere, mister.”

They share a laugh and settle into companionable silence. After a beat, Jess clears his throat. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am,” Rory confirms. “I should get back to campus though. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And thanks.”

“For what?”

She blushes, thankful Jess can’t see the moony look on her face. “I love you,” Rory says in lieu of an answer. She feels her heart swell with the feeling.

It’s quiet on the other end of the line, and then, “I love you, too.”

* * *

Rory pays for her coffee at the kiosk and settles onto a nearby bench, cold wisps of frosty air floating from her lips. A noise to her left pulls her into focus, as Logan quietly sits down a safe distance away. He looks slightly haggard, purpling bags under his eyes and expression near solemn.

“Hey,” he greets.

Rory quirks a brow as she takes a sip of her beverage. It’s flat and bitter. Luke’s is so much better—Jess’ the best. Every time she’s stayed at his place, he wakes early and makes a pot, brewing it stronger and adding nutmeg. Rory would directly siphon the stuff into her veins if she could.

Grimacing, she tilts her head. “Hey.”

“What are you doing out here?” Logan asks.

“Taking a little break. Paris is on some solidarity fast. I thought she was gonna rip my head off when I mentioned dinner. Needed to get away for a while,” Rory responds with a chuckle.

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “She and Doyle deserve each other,” he jokes, referencing the new couple. “Not a sane braincell between them.”

Rory shrugs in a _what-can-you-do_ kind of manner, smiling softly. “What about you?”

“I just left Colin and Finn’s.”

She nods mutely.

“So,” Logan begins, redirecting the conversation. “I heard something very interesting from my father.” He watches her expectantly, but Rory doesn’t give him an inch. “You turned down the internship,” he says finally.

“I respectfully declined,” Rory corrects.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a wry smirk. “I don’t think anyone’s ever done that,” Logan jokes, but a bit of wonder bleeds into his voice. “You pulled off a first, Ace.”

Rory snorts, thinking back to the amused yet dismissive look on Mitchum’s face. She knows she didn’t leave any lasting impression on the man. “I’m sure he’ll get over it,” she says sarcastically.

“You know, anyone else would probably kill for that kind of grunt work position,” Logan scolds with mock seriousness.

“Now you sound like Emily,” Rory murmurs, tipping her face skyward. It looks like it might snow, she thinks absently.

“Ah, I take it the grandparents weren’t thrilled with your decision.”

She smiles despite herself, remembering how the vein in her grandmother’s forehead visibly throbbed. “Pretty much,” Rory confirms, a laugh bubbling from her lips. She looks over and they share a conspiratorial smile. After a while, her face scrunches up in consideration. “You didn’t have your father do this for me, did you?” she asks hesitantly.

Logan looks momentarily taken aback. “I try not to ask the old man for personal favors.”

Rory nods. “I figured.”

“Is that why you said no, you didn’t want any handouts?”

“It’s not that,” Rory argues. “I’m not so stupid to think I can do this on my own. I know journalism takes connections.”

“Then why?” Logan asks, angling his body towards hers in genuine curiosity.

Rory wraps her hands around the coffee cup, considering his question. It suddenly feels important to find the right words, to say them out oud. She looks down at her shoes and chews on her lip.

“Your father runs an empire,” she starts quietly. “He’s bought up all these newspapers, he’s got people churning out stories like it’s a factory line—some of which aren’t exactly illuminating.” Rory looks up at Logan then. “And I bet it’s not even the writers’ fault, I’m sure certain things fall by the wayside in favor of some greater, corporate ethos. But…it’s impersonal,” she explains, tapping her thumb against the plastic lid. “Plucking out students before they’ve even graduated, making them another cog in the machine…” Rory trails off, shaking her head. “It’s not the kind of work I want to do.”

Logan listens carefully, serious expression melting into a smile by the end. “Are we back to the plight of the common man? A bright-eyed journalist in search of an authentic experience?”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, but his tone isn’t mocking. “Well, if you already know then why ask?” Rory chirps.

“You working with Helmen instead?” Logan asks after a beat. He’d heard about the position from other students.

She nods in confirmation.

He watches Rory with a peculiar expression. “You know it won’t be easy, right?” he murmurs.

She smiles wanly. “Yeah, but it’d be _my_ decision, in the end. Maybe my mistake or my eventual failure. But it’d be something of my own doing,” she explains vaguely, cocking her head at Logan. “Haven’t you ever wanted that?”

He works his jaw, swallowing past a flash of raw desire and something unfamiliar. Jealousy, maybe. “You’re something else,” Logan breathes, wanting to get closer.

Rory’s eyes widen, and he takes her hesitation as a crumbling resolve.

“Come back to my place,” he offers, no hint of teasing in his voice.

She shakes her head, pinning him with a reproachful look. “Why are you always like this?” Rory asks in frustration. “Why can’t we talk like normal people?”

“I like you,” Logan says plainly, causing Rory to whip her head back in disbelief.

“Why? Because I don’t gawk at your family’s money or want to work for your father? Get real, Logan. That’s not remarkable. I’m sure there are other single, just as puckish fish in the sea. Go wrangle one,” she mutters.

He chuckles, shaking his own head warily. “You don’t see it, I guess. You’re brave, Ace. You told off your grandparents, you refuse to fit in their mold, you walk around here in search of something honest. Who wouldn’t like you?”

Rory’s eyes skitter away. She doesn’t think anyone should be singing her praises, certainly not for courage of all things. It sounds ridiculous to her own ears. “You could be like that too,” she offers quietly. “You don’t have to follow in your father’s footsteps if you don’t want to, Logan.” It’s the closest they’ve come to talking about something real, no longer skirting around Logan’s propensity for hijinks or rebellion.

He waits for her to meet his gaze, a sad smile on his lips. “I have to.”

She feels something run up her spine—a flicker of pity, sure, but for a split second, Rory pictures herself in Logan’s place. Maybe if she’d grown up differently, under the thumb of more unkind Gilmores, she’d feel that crushing weight of expectation. It gnaws at her insides.

“Well,” Rory starts generously. “Something tells me you won’t go so gently into the night. You’ll figure things out.”

Logan leans back, an easy smile on his face. He knows they’ve sidestepped a harder conversation, knows his offer tonight has been dismissed too. “Who knew I’d get a patented Rory pep talk this evening,” he muses.

“What are friends for?” she responds.

He swallows the urge to snort. “Is that what we are?”

“Maybe,” Rory hedges. “If you didn’t proposition me every time we talked.”

Logan grins. “Fair enough.”

“I should go,” she says, rising and dumping her empty cup in the wastebin. “Gotta scarf down my dinner before Paris catches me.” Rory raises her hand in goodbye, and Logan mimics the action from his spot on the bench.

He watches her leave with regret and maybe a little admiration.

* * *

“What’s the verdict on this,” Rory murmurs, holding up a chipped plate with a dirty caricature of Rizzo from _Grease._ She’s nearly done filling up a box with Jess’ dinnerware, carefully wrapping each piece in old newspapers she picked up from school.

Jess looks up from his spot by the bookshelf, removing a stray patch of packing tape from his elbow and twisting up his mouth in consideration. “Keep it.”

Rory quirks a brow, examining the plate carefully. “Sentimental or skeevy,” she wonders.

“A bit of both,” Jess deadpans, surveying his messy apartment and sighing. “God, when did I amass so much crap?” He exhales a low puff of air, squinting at Rory. “This is your doing,” he accuses.

She rolls her eyes in return. “Oh, whatever. People need things,” she opines wisely. “Things make a home.” She finishes wrapping the plate and stacks the rest of the kitchenware into the box, quickly labeling it and pushing it off to one side of the counter.

Jess rises with a groan and slowly makes his way over to Rory, wrapping her up in a hug. He rests his chin against her shoulder and hums. “I’m tired,” he mutters, sweeping a hand down the small of her back and clutching at her waist.

Rory tries to hide a smile. He gets like this sometimes, so open to affection—clingy, even—when exhaustion creeps into his bones. His GED test was the other night, a goodbye dinner with his coworkers from Greenlight the next day, and they’ve barely had a chance to celebrate themselves, too busy packing up the rest of Jess’ things and ridding the apartment of whatever else. He leaves for Philadelphia next week, and Rory tries not to dwell on it. She’s eternally happy for him, and perhaps a bit smug to see Jess get all his ducks in a line just like she knew he could. But when she thinks of the added distance, the complicated schedule they’ll have to work out between her courses and his new job, it feels as though someone’s taken a jackhammer to Rory’s chest. She works to hide a grimace next and presses a kiss behind his ear.

“I think we’ve done all we can tonight, let’s take a break,” she suggests.

Jess is quick to agree, rearing back and smiling into a deeper kiss, teasing her mouth open and pulling an appreciative moan from Rory. He wraps his hands around her elbows and leads her from the kitchen, walking backwards through a sea of boxes and packing peanuts. On the way to the bed, though, Jess’ foot bumps into a sturdier container and he grunts, breaking the kiss and looking down in confusion.

“Oh,” Rory murmurs, smacking a kiss to his cheek and crouching down to examine it. “Luke asked me to drop this off for you. He said it’s from your mother,” she adds carefully.

Jess is silent as he leans down next to her. He’s spoken to Liz here and there since her wedding, met up with her a time or two back in Stars Hollow or when her Ren Faire circuit made it out to New York. The few times Rory accompanied him, Jess made an effort to engage in light conversation, even inquired about his mother’s jewelry line or T.J.’s woodworking, but things still felt off-kilter. Each time they saw each other, Liz greeted her son the same way—gentle hands cradling his face and her forehead pressed to his. _“You look good,_ ” she’d murmur proudly, and Jess swallowed, trying to dispel his mind of bad memories and focus on the here and now. He may never forgive Liz for the shit she pulled when he was growing up, but Jess figured he owed it to himself to let go of some of that anger. Because on his worst days, it clung to his insides like some rotting tumor, churning his stomach and burning his throat. He refused to carry that weight anymore.

Rory catches on to Jess’ mood and reaches over, gently squeezing his fingers as he unlatches the lid and sifts through the container’s contents. Old clothes and books are to be expected, plus the occasional soul-cleansing pendants and tapestries—a memento from Liz’ latest love of hippie mumbo jumbo—but underneath what looks like a worn blanket is a battered shoebox. Jess opens it without hesitation and a slew of photos pour out, the topmost one landing in his lap. He plucks it up by a yellowed corner and bites the inside of his cheek.

Jess can feel Rory’s eyes on him, and he turns to her stiffly, shrugging indifferently though his mouth feels like dry cotton.

“That’s you,” she murmurs, examining the photograph closely and almost smiling at the young, disgruntled-looking Jess glaring back at her. His hair back then was just as wild, just as midnight black. He has a scrape at his temple, and his mouth is quirked up in an embarrassed sneer. Donning worn jeans and a bright Mortal Kombat t-shirt, he poses outside a gothic building with a book shoved beneath his arm. “Where was this taken?” Rory asks quietly.

Jess absently runs a finger over the photo, tracing the lines of the city backdrop. “Old public library on the corner of,” he closes his eyes for a moment, searching his memory, “22nd and Jones. It was the day after my seventh birthday.”

Rory cocks her head. “Did your mom take you there as a gift?”

“She forgot.”

At her confusion, Jess smiles bitterly. “The day of,” he explains. “She forgot it was my birthday. She went out with her boyfriend instead, getting fucked up. When she got back that night, she realized what day it was and started crying. Babbling about this and that. She promised she’d buy me all the books I wanted to make up for it, but I knew she blew any money we had on her last score. I said I just wanted a library card instead, it shut her up, at least,” he finishes, tone unaffected.

Rory looks a little pale, like she might be sick or start crying, and Jess nudges her shoulder with his. “It’s okay,” he reassures. “It was a long time ago.”

She knows Jess doesn’t want to get into it, doesn’t want to rehash all that hurt, but she slides into his lap anyway. Wraps her arms around his shoulders and hides her face in his neck. Her throat stings, and Jess must feel the same way, as he exhales roughly against her hair, breaths coming out in little shudders.

After a while, Rory leans back and gingerly takes the photo from him, looking at it with warmth despite the sad circumstances. “What book did you get that day, do you remember?” she asks.

The tips of Jess’ ears burn scarlet, but he manages a small smile. “ _The Vicar of Nibbleswicke_ ,” he mumbles. “I liked Roald Dahl as a kid.”

Rory’s eyes brighten with recognition. “I read that one!”

“Yeah?”

She laughs, nodding. “Mom got me a collection of his stuff during one of Stars Hollows’ first book sales. I still have them.”

“So you had good taste back then,” Jess surmises.

Rory tugs on his earlobe playfully. “Excuse you, I’ve always had good taste.” After a moment, her expression softens. “We read the same stuff even as kids,” she says in a delighted voice.

His mood turns contemplative. “What it would’ve been like if we met back then…” Jess wonders, eyes glazing over.

“Do you think we’d have been friends?”

Jess smiles sadly. “You probably would’ve been my only friend.”

“I would’ve been your _best_ friend,” Rory corrects sweetly, before she smiles cheekily. “Although, judging by those scrapes and that surly attitude, maybe it wouldn’t have been so easy. You were probably the boy who pulled my pigtails at recess,” she jokes.

Jess tugs on the ends of Rory’s hair in confirmation and swallows her squawk of laughter with a tender kiss. He rearranges her sideways on his lap and pulls the box closer, plucking out different photographs and quietly revealing the story attached to each one. Some make his chest ache, others bring a smile to his face. And all the while, Rory listens with generous ears, running her hands up his chest or across his face in encouragement and adoration. By the end, Jess’ throat his raw from speaking. For a cowardly moment, he’s terrified of looking Rory in the face, feeling jagged and exposed in an unfamiliar way. But she simply slides the box away and drags her lips up the column of his throat, whispering endearments between kisses. It feels like love—patient and kind and enduring—and Jess’ heart swells with the feeling. And because he’s a chump, tears nearly spring to his eyes, and he clears his throat to hide the emotion.

“Thank you,” he breathes after a moment.

Rory peers at him with a slightly perplexed expression, shrugging as if to say _Of course._ She leans forward and sifts through more of his things, gently running her fingers across each item in a protective manner.

“I didn’t think Liz kept all of this,” Jess mumbles, eyeing the old baby blanket in the container alongside the other knick-knacks.

Rory tilts her head, considering her next words. “My mom’s got this baby box. A _Tears for Fears_ album she listened to when she was pregnant, scraps from my old onesies she used to stitch a quilt, photos of us in the potting shed behind the Independence Inn.” Her voice goes gentle. “Your mom must’ve been the same way. For all her mistakes…”

Jess’ eyes sting. “Yeah.”

“She loves you. And these are pieces of that,” Rory murmurs, gesturing to the container.

It hurts to speak, so he lays his head against her collarbone instead, a trembling hand fisting in the fabric of her sweater. Rory leads Jess to bed soon after, pulling him atop her with warm hands and a wet mouth and making him forget all about the pain.

* * *

Jess loads the last of his stuff into his uncle’s beat up Chevy, and the ancient thing nearly buckles under the weight. His own car is already filled to the brim, stray boxes and bags pressed up against the windows. It’ll be a miracle if Jess can even see out his rearview mirror on his way to Philly.

“When in the hell did you get so much stuff?” Luke mutters, trying to rearrange the mountain of boxes and furniture. He’d made the trek out to Manhattan that morning, easily agreeing to help his nephew move into his new place above Truncheon, as Rory has to get back to campus soon and neither wanted Jess to be alone.

Jess shoots Rory a challenging look, but she swiftly smacks his backside in warning. “Don’t even start,” she gripes playfully.

He laughs in return and raises an eyebrow at her brazen hands. When Luke grumbles again, Jess simply shoots him a grin and shrugs.

“You two are nauseating,” Luke snarks, a warm smile belying his harsh words. Jess looks lighter than Luke’s ever seen him, and pride bubbles in his chest at the recent developments in his nephew’s life. He knows Rory had a hand in making all this possible—if not directly, then at least bolstering Jess’ confidence—and Luke prays they can continue to weather the storm together.

He finishes securing the ropes across his truck bed and pats the side of this Chevrolet. “Alright,” Luke grunts. “Time to hit the road.” He pulls Rory into an awkward hug, thanking her gruffly and promising to see Jess to safety in Philadelphia. He climbs into his car then and gives the couple a bit of privacy to say goodbye.

As Jess scuffs the toe of his shoe on the sidewalk, Rory ambles up to him, slinging a hand inside his jeans pocket and pulling him into a tight hug. She’s been fighting the urge to cry all morning, working through packing checklists to keep her mind busy. But when Jess cradles a warm palm at her neck, fingers running up her jawline as his mouth pulls into a fond smile, the tears come unbidden. They run freely down her cheeks, and Rory flushes at the sudden display of emotion, eyes darting every which way to avoid his gaze. Jess sweeps his thumbs across her moist face and places a kiss at her temple, the corner of her mouth, and finally her lips. There’s naked honesty in his touch, a tenderness that speaks to their time together last night. Rory opens her mouth, teasing a tongue against Jess’ as long as is appropriate in public and swallows his responding moan.

They part with shaky breaths, watching each other raptly and burning the image to memory. They both know it will be some time before they can meet again; Rory has exams and her upcoming work with Professor Helmen, and Jess will be swamped settling into his new place and his position at Truncheon. With the way their lives are moving, things could be so different when they reunite, and it’s as exciting as it is terrifying. Rory thinks back to a hazy evening spent on Jess’ fire escape, their shoulders pressed tight and a mug of coffee nestled between them.

 _“The opportunity will present itself,”_ Jess had reassured.

_“And when it does?”_

He smiled. _“You jump.”_

She realizes it’s all been leading up to this moment—standing at a precipice, hands clasped together, and last words of _I love you_ exchanged.

“Go be great,” Rory murmurs finally, pressing her forehead to his.

“You too,” Jess responds, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sorry to anyone hoping for more angst re: rory & mitchum's internship. i was never planning to get into that (i don't have the brain power to write my own version) but i wanted to explore rory's insecurity/academic endeavors differently. as always, thanks for reading!*


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> long distance lovin' (some horndog moments just a heads up)

Rory has one hand nudged up against Jess’ sweat soaked ribcage, another gripping his slick cock and jerking him off with lazy strokes. When her fingers twist at the base, pulling an appreciative grunt from him, she scoots up and positions him at her opening. Slowly, slowly, Rory slides down, the wet drag of her hot and tight. Jess swallows a curse and bites down on his lower lip, his mind foggy and his hands clenched into fists by his side. He peers up at her helplessly, trying to stave off orgasm and keep himself from bucking up into her warmth. The look on Rory’s face is unreadable, more intense than Jess is used to seeing on her features, and there’s a slightly blurred quality to the edges of her figure. Using her grasp on his shoulders as leverage, Rory lifts her hips and slams back down on him with dogged precision. Up and down, up and down, one of her hands running a path across her torso to twerk at a dusty pink nipple. Jess’ lower stomach tenses at the sight, at her wordless invitation to touch, and he gasps as Rory continues her maddening pace. His limbs finally flail into action, and he raises an arm to flex his fingers at the valley between her breasts, splaying his hand wide to cover as much of her ivory skin as he can.

Jess tips Rory back with his touch, urging her to lean on his thighs as she continues to roll her hips. His eyes are glued to where they’re connected, and he’s never felt such intense want and desire flood his senses. Rory moans wantonly as she grabs his hand and slides two of his fingers into her mouth, sucking with a pressure that mirrors the way her sex clenches around him. He gapes at the debauched action, feeling that telltale tightening in his gut before he comes. With great restraint, Jess pulls his digits from Rory’s mouth and tenderly runs the pad of his thumb along her jawline. Raising, he wraps a shaky arm around her waist and buries his face against her chest, grunting in warning. Rory laughs lightly, carding her fingers through his hair and almost painfully tugging the tresses at the base of his neck.

“Not yet,” she murmurs, tone feather-soft yet commanding. She rakes blunt nails down his neck, and Jess is lost in her cerulean gaze, his impending peak suspended in free fall.

“Please,” he mumbles, the tips of his ears burning hot. It’s not like him to beg.

If possible, Rory leans ever closer, the swell of her breasts brushing against his skin as she dips her mouth to lick at the shell of his ear. Jess trembles, hands finding purchase on her hips as she sucks on his earlobe and whispers breathily. “It’s time to get up,” she singsongs.

Jess’ eyebrows furrow, trying to work out her words in his hazy brain. “What,” he murmurs dazedly.

“I said,” Rory starts, still bouncing on his lap, her silky thighs clamping down like a vice against his hips. “It’s time to get up, Jess.” Her voice sounds far away.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbles, suddenly feeling her slipping from his fingers. He swallows roughly, he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s so, _so_ close.

“Jess…”

“Rory, wait,” he grits out.

“Jess!” a voice booms outside his door.

Jess comes to, a hand slamming down on his bedside table, body raised and tensed in anticipation. He exhales shakily, blinking in confusion at his surroundings and the lack of soft, warm Rory atop him.

The pounding outside continues, insistent and growing in volume. Jess groans as he looks down at himself; he’s bare save for a pair of briefs covering his lower half, and he can feel his cock laying heavy and sated between his legs. His dream state proclivities have left an embarrassing wet spot on the cotton fabric and even spilled onto his rumpled sheets.

“Get up, Jess,” Chris’ steady voice calls out alongside Matt’s cheerful squawking.

“We’ve got a busy day ahead of us, city boy.” Jess can practically hear the smile in his friend’s voice, and he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. Gingerly throwing the sheets from his body, Jess pulls on stray sweatpants and grabs for a towel. He thunders from his room, shooting the pair a homicidal glare and swiftly entering the bathroom.

“What crawled up his ass?” Matt asks amusedly.

Jess can only hear Chris offer a mirthful chuckle in response. He no doubt has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Under the warm spray of the showerhead, Jess tries to busy his mind with today’s work schedule, but thoughts of his wet dream win out. He gets hard again and sluggishly fists his cock, working his grip over the sensitive head like Rory would’ve done and shaking from the strength of another orgasm. Jess locks his jaw to keep from groaning, leaning against the tile wall, his chest heaving.

It’s been a month now—a month of over a hundred and seventy miles stretched between them, late night phone calls, rambling emails, and the occasional pixelated video call from Yale’s newsroom. It leaves a lot to be desired, and Jess has to constantly remind himself that they’re making the best of the situation and will see each other again. It does little to settle his heart, though. And his libido, apparently. Jess mutters a string of curses and grabs for the shampoo, roughly working it into his hair and wondering if it’s normal to miss a person this much.

* * *

Two months in, and Rory experiences the rare, panicked phone call from Jess. She answers after the third ring, having just entered her dorm and tossed her things aside in time to fish the cellphone from her bag.

“Hello,” she answers breathlessly.

“Hey.” His voice is drawn, a little muted in quality.

“Jess?” Rory murmurs, eyebrows immediately furrowing. “Are you okay?”

“It’s—” She hears him exhale roughly, mumbling something unintelligible.

“What’s wrong?” Rory asks gently, sitting at the foot of her bed. It’s not like him to be at a loss for words. They’ve moved past his teenage tightlipped-ness; these days Jess didn’t mince words and was honest to a fault.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he blurts suddenly, voice pitched higher in nervousness.

Rory waits a beat. “Ever?” she jokes lamely, hoping to pull an amused chuckle from her obviously tense boyfriend.

“Rory,” Jess chides, tone longsuffering.

She smiles despite herself, relaxing her shoulders a touch and crossing her ankles thoughtfully. “Where are you?”

Rory hears some puttering in the background, a grunting sigh as Jess settles down she guesses. “In the downstairs coat closet,” he mumbles. “Hiding,” he admits.

She forgoes the flash of worry and stilted amusement on her part, plainly asking the most obvious question instead. “Why?”

Jess is silent on the other end of the line, gathering his thoughts. “We’re sifting through a last batch of manuscripts for final review,” he starts, voice hushed. “I think Truncheon will publish three, maybe four this month.”

“That’s great!” Rory gushes, her chest swelling with pride.

“It is,” Jess agrees, though she can hear the frown in his voice.

“So what has you wigging out,” she murmurs. Rory imagines him in some dusty cupboard, lithe legs pulled to his chest as he mulls over his thoughts. She hasn’t visited the publishing house yet, but heard enough from Jess to picture the dark cherry wood, the worn upholstery and convoluted maze of entryways and backdoor closets. There was something warm in his voice when he set the scene though, describing the stacks of manuscripts and endless rows of books for reference, the vintage art hanging from the walls. As worried as he sounds now, Rory knows he’s made a place for himself at Truncheon. Maybe even sees it as a home of sorts. And that’s significant; Jess’ living situations have been transient from birth, it seems. To have finally achieved a semblance of normalcy and routine was more than she could’ve hoped for him. Rory is pulled from her thoughts when Jess speaks again.

“I don’t think I’m fucking anything up too bad,” he allows. “It’s just strange. I mean, I’ve never done this before, and suddenly there are people who are relying on me for important opinions and big decisions. Just last week, Chris handed me a bundle of manuscripts and told me to pick one. When I asked him for what, he said ‘to edit.’ Full stop. Just edit the damn thing, like it’s no big deal, like any author should listen to my droll takes on writing when I can’t even finish a draft of my own stupid stuff,” Jess rambles.

“Jess,” Rory cuts in softly.

“I never took Publishing 101, okay? All I have are my books and my notes and the ridiculous organizational tools I pilfered from my time dating you,” he continues. “I used to work hourly wages at a bookstore, I bartended for god’s sake. I shouldn’t be in charge of anything else, this was a mistake, I can’t—”

“Jess!”

He takes an audible breath. “Yeah.”

“You’re spiraling, babe,” Rory says with a pained chuckle. She ignores his spluttering over the endearment and redirects the conversation. “You’re doing fine,” she reassures. “Better than fine, by the sound of how much Matt and Chris count on you to handle. They _trust_ you, that’s a good thing.”

“I never thought I could do this,” Jess mutters.

“But you can. You are,” Rory stresses. She lays down on her bed with a soft sigh, ghosting a hand across her ribcage. “You work so hard, you got your GED—”

“Don’t rattle on about that again,” Jess says with an embarrassed groan.

“I will!” she croons, smiling sweetly at the photo of Jess nudged in the wood edge of her mirror. He stands stiffly against his desk at Truncheon, holding his framed degree and cracking the faintest smile. He’d sent the photograph to Rory, along with a quickly scrawled note. _I did the damn thing, Gilmore._ She squealed in delight, immediately shown it to Luke and he nearly started crying. There was so much to be proud of with Jess. “You, my friend, are destined for greatness. Trust me,” Rory opines, warmth flooding her cheeks.

She hears Jess blow a puff of air from his mouth, tone finally relaxing. “Trust you, huh?”

“Aren’t I trustworthy?” Rory immediately responds.

He laughs on the other end, and she luxuriates in it, burns the sound to memory. “Maybe,” he jokes. “I guess I should get out of this closet,” Jess mumbles after a moment.

Rory hums in agreement. “You know, my mom told me when Luke first opened the diner, he freaked out so bad he stumbled into the back storage area and bumped his head on a shelf and passed out. Ceasar found him a little while later and had to use smelling salts to wake him up.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better,” Jess deadpans.

“I’m just saying, things could be worse. At least you’re conscious, for one.”

“If I did pass out, Matt would probably toss me into Centennial Lake to wake my ass up,” Jess says with a snort.

Rory smiles into the receiver, imaging the shenanigans they must be getting into between work. “How are things going with them?”

“Good,” Jess says quietly. “This minor freakout aside, it’s really good. I like working with them.”

“And they like working with you,” Rory guesses.

It’s silent on the other end of the line. She knows Jess second guesses the longevity of anything. It’ll take him some time to accept that Matt and Chris and Truncheon are permanent fixtures in his life, just as Luke and Rory are. It’s fate that the trio met up.

“Let them help you with your writing,” she gently suggests. “I know it’s personal—it has to be your own doing—but another set of eyes will help. You’ll get there, you’re brilliant.”

“I don’t feel brilliant.”

Rory hums, warmth coloring her voice. “Well, lucky for you, I’ll always be around to remind you,” she chirps.

“Always, huh?” No teasing in his voice, no doubt or hesitation. Just naked affection, confirming what he already feels for Rory.

A hot blush runs the length of her body, and for once, Rory is thankful Jess can’t see her. She clears her throat, asking him about the newest manuscript he’s working on, and their conversation easily picks up. Rory ignores the dull ache in her chest, the near perpetual absence she’s lived with since they parted. _I’ll see him soon_ , she promises to herself, before wincing at the uncertainty of their schedules.

Rory’s barely had a normal night’s sleep since beginning work with the attending professor. They’ve trudged through horrifying court transcripts, met with translators and former state department officials in an effort to organize the findings and build a narrative ready for publishing. It’s good, honest work—work that Rory is proud to be a part of—but she can’t help but feel drained by the subject matter. In her weaker moments, she imagines herself back in Stars Hollow, enjoying a movie marathon with her mother or arguing over the newest issue of _Rolling Stone_ with Lane.

Rory reminds herself of Jess’ words one night, praising her spirit and telling her she was bigger than her hometown. _“Doesn’t mean you have to leave all that behind,”_ he’d told her _. “Just don’t be scared to want more.”_ She’d mirrored the sentiment to him after, and they both blushed through a sappy moment. Ambition and pure drive aside, these days it was a miracle Rory made it through her courses and the myriad ways she and Jess could connect without actually getting to see each other in the flesh. At this rate, they’d be sending messages in a bottle. Carrier pigeons next.

 _Soon,_ Rory vows, and embarrassedly blurts that she loves and misses Jess in the next breath. His responding laugh—lighthearted and tinged with easy devotion—is more than worth it.

* * *

Three months is when something snaps, in the most delicious way. Jess is settled in his studio of sorts above Truncheon, after a rowdy Saturday night of drinking with his roommates-slash-work-partners at the bar down the street. Despite its hipster renaissance, Philadelphia (and Locust Street in particular) is still seedy in a way that prickles Jess’ spine, reminds him of the darker corners of Manhattan, and he was happy to slither into bed, slightly buzzed and ready for sleep. Matt fell into the arms of a U-Penn undergrad about an hour ago, and Chris brought back his own late night guest, gallantly showing off the downstairs operation before winking at Jess and heading up with a leggy brunette.

Now, Jess brushes his teeth, gulps down a glass of water, and shuffles out of his jeans and worn t-shirt. He’s flopped on his belly in the dark, setting an alarm for tomorrow morning when his phone buzzes at the bedside table. He gawks at the time, it’s past one a.m. and it’s unusual that Rory call so late. He immediately answers, worried that something is awry, and is met with a slurred greeting instead, silly and coquettish in quality.

Jess breathes through a laugh. “Rory?” he asks incredulously.

Buoyant noise swells in the background, and Jess hears the click of a door before her voice comes into focus. “Jess…” Rory whispers, hiccupping hilariously as she trails off.

He turns to lay on his back, fighting a smile. “And what have we been up to this evening,” he teases.

“I—” Jess hears her swallow. “Jägerbombs,” she says simply, before dissolving into a series of inebriated giggles.

“Wild child,” he scolds with mock seriousness. “Are you having fun?” Jess asks softly after a beat. He knows Rory has been stressed beyond reason lately; if anyone needed a break it was her.

Rory hums thoughtfully, voice muffled as she pulls something over her head. Her cardigan, maybe. “I guess,” she murmurs. “We had a party in the newsroom, celebrating our last issue for the year,” Rory explains slowly, as if weighing her every word. “I’m home now.”

“Didn’t want to keep celebrating?”

“Na-uh,” Rory mutters, whispering a quiet _ouch!_ as she must’ve literally shaken her head for added effect. Jess swallows another chuckle. “I saw Paris and Doyle making out in his office and left,” she adds with a wry snort. “It’s like when you catch your parents doing it, except Paris is my friend-slash-rival and Doyle is my…very short editor,” Rory mumbles tiredly.

Jess laughs outright now. “And you just decided to give me a goodnight call?”

“I miss you,” she says easily, as if it were obvious.

He hears her fall back on her bed, moaning lightly at the comfort, and the noise goes straight to his cock. Jess swallows. He really needs to get his shit together. Wet dreams and so simply being sent into a tizzy…he’s not some gawky fourteen year old anymore. He clears his throat, manages a quiet, “I miss you too,” in response.

Rory sighs contentedly before her tone turns sour. “My mouth feels like cotton,” she complains.

“Go get a drink of water,” Jess gently suggests, as though coaxing an unruly child.

“Nope,” Rory chirps, popping the ‘p’ with her lips. “Too far. Bed is good, bed is best,” she breathes. “I’m just gonna—ugh, _stupid_ —would you _just_ ,” she grumbles.

Jess braces an arm behind his head. “What on earth are you doing,” he wonders amusedly.

“Trying to get this stupid skirt off! There!” Rory cries, triumphant. “Now, my blouse…”

Licking his lips, Jess inwardly curses. She is going to be so miffed about this drunken conversation tomorrow, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He hears more fumbling on the other end of the line, a litany of softly muttered curses in Rory’s melodic voice. “Did you get it off,” he breathes.

She laughs lightly. “Yup,” Rory answers simply. “I got all dressed up tonight,” she starts, tone a little bewildered. “I don’t know why, I felt like a doll.”

“I bet you looked great,” is Jess’ immediate response. He imagines her in one of her Friday night dinner getups, spine held a little straighter by a dress, silhouette a touch more striking.

“Sweet talker,” she croons.

He swallows a snort. “Oh, you know it.” They share a laugh then, Rory’s high, tinkling tone melding with Jess’ low chuckles.

After a beat, she breathes deeply and he strains to catch the change in atmosphere. “Rory?”

“I miss you,” she repeats breathlessly, voice breaking off into a shuddered exhale. “I—I wish you were with me. Here, tonight. Touching me…” she trails off.

Jess sits up in bed, fingers tensed around his phone. “You—” he sputters.

“It doesn’t feel as good, when it’s just my hands,” Rory murmurs, perplexed words belying the sultry way her breathing picks up. He hears her muffled groan next, how she must be resituating herself in bed.

“What are you doing,” Jess murmurs dumbly. He can’t help the image that comes to mind, Rory in a shameless state of undress, huffing against her pillows, legs akimbo, a shaky hand working between her thighs. 

Her answering moan is confirmation enough, and a dull ache throbs at his core, behind his eyes, at the base of his throat. His entire being seems to thrum with _something_ , and Jess mutters a quiet curse in the next breath, clenching his eyes shut. “You have to tell me what you’re doing, Rory. Please.” Begging again. Jess would be embarrassed if he weren’t so stupidly aroused.

“I’m—” she starts, gasping. “My skin is hot,” Rory breathes, voice hushed.

Jess works his jaw, staring at a spot on his wall and willing his hard-on to go away. “Yeah?” He presses a hand to the front of his sleep pants anyway, hoping the added pressure and pure determination will rectify this situation somehow.

“Mm-hmm,” Rory hums. “I’m trying to do what you’d do,” she stumbles over her words. “How you’d do it.”

“Where are your hands, Rory?” It takes all of Jess’ self-control to keep his voice even. He’s so hard it hurts between his eyes, and his head hangs low.

“On my—against—” He can hear the furious blush in her voice. She gasps again. “In me,” Rory breathes. “God…”

Jess swallows thickly. This can’t be happening, he must be dreaming again. Rory’s voice climbs higher, nearly panting into the line, and Jess searches for the words. “Are you—you’re imagining it’s me,” he says rather than asks, hands ghosting over the outline of his cock beneath soft cotton.

“Yes,” Rory murmurs, struggling to focus. “Your fingers, they’re always _so,_ and I’m—” she cuts herself off, groaning lowly. “Not enough,” she whispers.

“You’re perfect,” Jess blurts, his entire body flushing at the foolish sentimentality. It doesn’t fit with the moment, but his words seem to spur Rory on. She gasps, shuddering, and Jess can only imagine just how furiously she must be working herself, delicate fingers gathering moisture at her opening before plunging inside. He mutters a hasty _Fuck it_ to himself before pulling his cock from his pants, spreading the precum along his length and twisting his fist on the upturn. “Keep going,” he mutters. “Touch yourself for me. Tell me what you want.”

“I want,” Rory starts, grunting with effort to multitask. “I want your fingers, your mouth— _you_ ,” she stresses. “I love it when you’re inside me, I love it…”

Jess clenches his eyes again at her admission, gripping the base of his cock hard to keep from coming. None of this makes sense and he’s sure he’ll wake tomorrow having imagined the whole thing, but he wants more than anything for Rory to come before he does. Wants to hear her unravel, and feel the satisfaction at having been the cause.

“If I were there,” Jess murmurs, swallowing roughly. “I’d do everything for you. Make you scream. You’re always trying to be quiet, but I love it when you’re loud,” he rambles. “Everyone would hear, they’d know…” he trails off. _They’d know you’re mine_ , he thinks dazedly, stroking his cock in time with Rory’s panting breaths. Hungry possession takes hold of his heart, and Jess can hear murmured agreement through the crackled phoneline.

“They’d know,” Rory repeats his words, voice breaking off into a moan. “Jess, I’m close,” she admits, breaths coming out harsher.

Jess burns the noise to memory, thumb and forefinger rubbing a tight ring towards his cockhead, twisting as though working a corkscrew. His vision starts to go white, and he exhales desperately. “Come on, Rory,” he goads, “come for me, please.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then her voice blessedly floods the line, as Rory trembles through a series of drawn out whimpers, muttering an exultant _fuck_ at the end. Jess sweeps the inside of his knuckles across his leaking slit and grunts loudly, black spots dancing behind his eyelids as he finally lets go. His body lurches forward from the intensity of it, the comedown strangely bittersweet as he can’t touch Rory, but he feels her. In every which direction, Jess could reach out and sense the shape of her—the sound of her voice, the curl of her lips, the thumping pulse at her neck. She’s everywhere, he realizes, before wryly thinking this is what insanity must be like. Jess finds he doesn’t mind it, not in the slightest.

They breathe together then, their quiet inhales and exhales mixing, and Rory is the first to speak, her voice fluttering.

“I love you,” she whispers.

Jess leans back against his headboard, heartbeat still ringing in his ears. “Yeah?” he murmurs.

He hears her laugh into the receiver, humming. “Enough to have phone sex with you,” she jokes. “And really, that’s…” she trails off, probably blushing something fierce.

“I guess we can cross this one off the bucket list,” Jess parries back.

“You think this is on my bucket list?” Rory asks with a snort.

“Your _dirty, unspeakable_ bucket list,” he amends. “The one where you get to use me as your plaything, and I oblige out of a sense of duty.”

“Ah, that is very chivalrous of you, sir,” she responds with a giggle. “And I’m guessing you gain nothing from this?”

“Not a thing,” Jess lies, tone light, a smile on his lips.

He can hear her stretch, her melodic voice groaning appreciatively as she works out the kinks in her muscles. “So,” Rory drawls, “if I were to borrow some equipment from the newsroom and set up a video call with you in the privacy of my bedroom, you’d just…be humoring me, is that it?”

Jess audibly gulps, cursing the immediate desire that blooms in his stomach. “You’re a menace,” he threatens without any real heat.

Rory’s answering laugh is boisterous and decidedly sober, and Jess knows she won’t forget this happened tomorrow morning. She might have to work through ten stages of embarrassment to mention it, but this is good— _they_ are good, and it turns out a few states inbetween won’t change that. When her breathing steadies, her words slurred from drowsiness rather than drunkenness, Jess tells her he loves her and bids her goodnight.

* * *

Four months after is when Rory planned to visit Jess in Philadelphia. She finds herself at a Hartford hospital with her mother and Luke instead, quickly shooting off an apologetic text to Jess explaining the situation. He responds immediately, making sure it’s nothing too serious but offering to come out there anyway. She can practically hear the tense concern in his typed out words, but Rory reassures him that all is well, or will be, at least. She’s pocketing her phone when the doctor enters the exam room, sending the trio a comforting smile and taking a cursory glance at Lorelai’s chart.

“Ms. Gilmore,” he greets. “I’m Doctor Morris.”

“Hi, yes, hello,” Lorelai responds, a breezy smile on her face. Rory narrows her eyes, she knows her mother is probably scared out of her wits, but she plays the happy, shiny game too well. Luke must see it too, as he gently claps a hand to her shoulder and squeezes.

“Well, now would you rather speak privately, or…?” he trails off, gesturing to the two guests.

“No, that’s okay. What I know, they know.”

“Whether we want to or not,” Luke quips.

The doctor smiles genially and nods. “Okay, then. Ms. Gilmore, you are not pregnant,” he concludes, flipping the chart closed and tucking it under his arm.

Lorelai’s face is frozen, her indigo eyes working through this news. She grips the sleeve of her exam gown tightly. “But, the test—”

“False positives happen. At-home tests aren’t foolproof; user error is likely, or if there was a recent change in your medication regimen, that could explain it,” Dr. Morris says. “What I’m more concerned about is your spotting and abdominal pain. That could be indicative of another issue, coupled with stress on the body. Have you had any difficulties lately?”

Before Lorelai can answer, they hear a commotion out in the hallway, a sharp voice arguing with an unlucky nurse or orderly. A lower voice booms alongside.

“Ma’am, you need to wait over there, visitors aren’t allowed—”

“I am not a _visitor_ ,” she spits. “I’m a mother! Now take your hands off me and let me see my daughter!”

“I’d do as she says, son. Emily’s not the kind to go quietly,” her mate suggests, tone longsuffering.

Rory blanches. Her grandparents and her mother haven’t spoken in months; she’s suffered the usual Friday night dinners alone, though they’ve gotten a touch better with time. She watches in shock as the duo blusters into the exam room, an aggrieved nurse hot on their heels.

“Dr. Morris, I’m sorry! They—”

The doctor takes in the scene, and gently shoos the nurse away.

“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?” Lorelai gapes.

They stand frozen by the doorway, watching their daughter with matching looks of worry, and Rory suddenly feels their age, can so clearly see the lines etched on her grandparents’ faces. It twists something in her chest.

Emily is silent, wringing her hands, so Richard speaks up. “We don’t mean to interrupt. Dr. Reynolds mentioned he saw you at the hospital and wanted to make sure you were alright. We only…well, we—”

Lorelai’s gaze softens the slightest. She still feels her hackles rise, and her face heat up at being the center of attention, the cause for so much concern. She sighs, and beckons them into the room. “I’m _fine_ ,” she stresses, turning to Dr. Morris and pinning him with an intent look. “Right?”

He holds her gaze for a moment before smiling amiably. “I’m concerned about the bleeding and abdominal pain,” he repeats. “Your blood tests don’t show any immediate afflictions, but we’ll do an ultrasound just to be sure, and have radiology confirm.” Dr. Morris turns to the now very filled room. “We’ll take good care of her, don’t worry. Now, it’s a bit crowded in here. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll call you right back after.” A tech enters with some equipment, sidestepping the gathering and shooting Lorelai a smile as she readies her.

Lorelai nods, leaning up for a quick kiss from Luke and squeezing Rory’s hand comfortingly. “Can you guys wait outside with Dad?” she asks. “Mom, could you stay?” her voice is quiet, serious, and Emily balks a bit before shuffling towards her daughter. On her way to the bed, she briefly circles Luke’s wrist.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” she murmurs, gliding towards Lorelai.

Luke can only manage a gruff ‘Sure’ as he and Rory join Richard in the hallway. The older man smiles as he pulls Rory into a warm hug and pointedly suggests she get some coffee, obviously wanting to talk to Luke. She hesitates, looking over at the diner owner and making sure he’s alright. Luke sends her a lopsided smile and shrug, reminding Rory of Jess in that moment, and she nods slowly. Promises to bring back a cup of peppermint tea for him. She’s on her fifth try with the coffee machine when her phone vibrates.

“Jess?” she answers.

“Hey, you okay?” She hears shuffling in the background, then the click of a door.

“The doctor’s with Mom right now,” Rory says in lieu of answering his question. Her mind is all out of sorts, running through every possible scenario.

“How’s Lorelai?”

“She seems okay for now. They’ll run some tests, but…” She chews on her lip. “She’s not pregnant,” Rory adds in a hushed voice.

Jess is silent on the other end of the line.

“I know she wanted this. I mean, a little Luke and Lorelai baby, they deserve that, you know? But then he called me this morning all frantic and he mentioned bleeding, and I just—” Rory clamps her mouth shut, feeling her eyes sting and her voice go wobbly.

“You were scared,” he concludes gently. 

She nods, belatedly realizing Jess can’t see. “I am.”

“She’ll be alright.” His tone doesn’t leave any room for doubt or argument, and Rory is once again comforted by his steady nature. The tension in her shoulders abate and she manages a small smile.

“My grandparents came,” she offers after a beat.

Rory hears Jess exhale lowly. “How’d that go?”

“Okay, I think. Well, they kind of booted me from the premises,” she says with a chuckle. “I think they’re apologizing.”

“About time,” Jess mutters, an edge to his voice. Rory can feel the protective air even through the phoneline, knows Jess worried about his uncle more than he let on. She murmurs in agreement, and he sighs. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can drive out there, Rory,” he offers again.

She hums, working out the time it would take Jess to make the trip and how tired they both would be. “No,” she says reluctantly. “I’m gonna be here taking care of Mom for a bit, and I’ve got to be in Boston next week. I _am_ sorry though, Jess. I know we had plans…”

“Don’t worry about that,” he quickly responds.

“I miss you,” Rory admits, feeling like a broken record. She finally manages to fill a cup with coffee and cradles the warm beverage to her chest. Pinching her cell between her ear and shoulder, she purchases tea from a nearby kiosk and shuffles down the hall.

Jess sighs into the receiver. “I miss you too. Let’s work something out, phone calls and emails are not cutting it.”

“Even with the occasional video call?” Rory teases.

“Oh, you want to get into that now, huh.” She can hear the blush in his voice. The memories of their foray into virtual sex made her stomach quiver, and Rory chuckles nervously in response.

After a moment, Jess pitches his voice lower, tone contemplative. “Maybe I could see you in Boston.”

“That’s a long trip to make,” Rory says quietly, wincing. Her work with Professor Helmen had dragged out into the summer, and while it was exciting being in a new city focusing on a new project, the near five hours away from Jess was a well-felt damper. She’d been making trips back and forth between Stars Hollow and Boston, and even that trek was enough to exhaust her. 

“It’ll be worth it. Plus, if I don’t see you soon, Matt and Chris will probably drop kick me into the nearest dump site.”

Rory snorts. “Why?”

“Let’s say I’m not my usual chipper self when I’ve spent this much time away from you.”

“Ah, you’ve been grumpy.”

“Maybe.”

“Frustrated.”

“Yes.”

“ _Yearning_ ,” Rory teases.

“Just call me Mr. Darcy,” Jess deadpans.

She nears her grandfather and Luke then, thankful they seem to have gotten on fine without her. Richard is smiling and clapping Luke on the shoulder, and the younger man nods. When they spot Rory, they eagerly take her proffered drinks, and she gestures for Luke to grab the phone. “Jess,” she explains.

Luke nods gratefully and makes his way towards a private corner to speak with his nephew.

Rory turns back to her grandfather and bumps his shoulder with hers, eyes searching. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s okay,” Richard confirms.

“How about Mom?”

“The doctor just left, he said there would be results quickly. You can go in, if you like.” Richard nods towards the door, settling into one of the vinyl waiting chairs.

Rory drops into the seat beside him, chewing on her lip. “Maybe we should give them another minute. If we hear any screeching, we can intervene,” she jokes.

Richard wraps his hands more securely around the coffee cup and peers at his granddaughter. “I see what you mean, now.”

She stares back at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“I’ve spoken to your mother, and to Luke. We were wrong for how we treated you all before, and I can see how happy Lorelai is, how much he has to do with that. The way he looks after you both…he’s family, isn’t he?”

Rory fiddles with the hem of her blouse, nodding. “Yes,” she says plainly. The warning is clear in her voice. _Don’t do this again, don’t even try it._

Carefully, apologetically, Richard reaches over and wraps his hand around her wrist, squeezing and stilling Rory’s fidgeting. “We are _very_ sorry, Rory. Give your grandmother some time to adjust. She’s prideful to a fault, it’s not often she can stomach being wrong.”

“But she was,” Rory insists.

Her grandfather nods. “And I’m sure you and Lorelai will always be ready and willing to tell her that,” he says, not unkindly. The smile on his face is warm. “You’re a good girl, Rory. You and your mother have done so well, we’re very proud.”

She feels affection bloom in her chest, and as Luke rejoins them and they gather back into the exam room to be with Lorelai, another piece of Rory’s life settles into place.

* * *

Six months and two weeks in, Jess and Rory finally see each other. Boston had been too busy, then Jess and the Truncheon crew were scrambling to get their published works out there, and between starting a new school year and suffering through midterms, there were few opportunities to meet. But fall break had just begun, and Rory immediately hightailed it out of campus and drove the three hours to Philadelphia, leaving Jess a rambling and excited voicemail as she pulled onto the interstate.

She hoists her bag over her shoulder now, jogging up the steps and gingerly opening the creaking oak doors. Rory takes in the wonderful chaos, the walls filled floor to ceiling with ancient books and boundless manuscripts. It’s just as Jess described it, and she can see how such a place might inspire creativity. Stepping further into the entryway, Rory locks eyes with a cute punk-looking girl by the front desk. She twirls a pen between her fingers and raises her eyebrows at the newcomer.

“Here to drop off a manuscript?”

Rory fumbles for an answer, her tongue feeling big and clumsy in her mouth. She never asked Jess if he okayed her presence here with his co-workers. She doesn’t want to impose. “Um—”

Her response is cut short by a quirkily-dressed, lanky man breezing into the main room, a pen tucked behind his ear, and a look of recognition on his face.

“Ah, the famed Rory,” he drawls in a gentle voice.

Her eyebrows knit in confusion, her lips pulling in an awkward smile. “My legend precedes me,” she quips.

He smiles in return, walking forward and extending a hand. “I’m Matt.” At the amused look on Rory’s face, he laughs. “I guess my legend precedes me too.”

She shakes his hand and shrugs. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Nothing reputable, I’m sure.”

Rory smirks, neither confirming nor denying. She peeks around Matt’s shoulder and waves at the girl. “Hi, I’m Rory. You’re Dani, right?”

Her eyes light up with understanding, and she bounds right up to them, a mere slip of a girl who might’ve only reached Rory’s shoulders if it weren’t for the platform boots. “You’re Jess’ girl!” she trills, leaning forward and hugging her enthusiastically.

Rory laughs in response, lightly patting her on the back and smiling generously. “It’s nice to meet you guys,” she offers.

“It’s about time,” Matt remarks kindly, wrapping a hand at her shoulder and leading her further into the main room. “I read your piece in _The Patriot Ledger_ —”

“It wasn’t my piece,” Rory is quick to correct. “I was just helping a professor—”

“No need to be humble, Rory,” Dani chides. “Jess was waving around the newspaper clipping like the pied piper.”

“You have a wonderful handle on prose, a great sense of voice,” Matt gushes. “Have you ever thought about writing fiction? Or essays, maybe? You know, we’re always looking for more…”

Rory tunes out his voice as footsteps thud down the grand staircase. She turns towards the noise and her heart leaps into her throat at the sight of Jess. He looks good. More relaxed and assured than Rory’s ever seen him. Dressed in worn trousers and a soft grey Henley. He has a bundle of loose papers tucked beneath his arm and as he nears the kerfuffle downstairs, he cracks the prettiest grin, cheeks heating up as his eyes meet Rory’s.

“Hey,” Jess murmurs, closing the distance between them and tossing his stray notes aside.

Rory swallows, feeling like she might cry or burst out laughing. She opts for a smile instead, a little wobbly at the ends. “Hey, yourself.” She searches for something lighthearted next, but then Jess wraps her up in his arms, a warm hand brushing against her cheek as he places a chaste though lingering kiss on her lips. When they break apart, Rory chases his lips again, and Jess laughs lowly, whispering something about _in private._ She remembers herself, their surroundings, and the very rapt audience watching their reunion unfold.

“Incredible,” Matt mumbles.

“I didn’t think he could smile like that,” Dani adds.

Jess clears his throat, keeping an arm around Rory’s waist and pulling her as close as is appropriate in public. “I’m guessing you’ve all met,” he surmises in a wry tone. Rory murmurs in assent at his side, rambling quietly about how wonderful the setup is and how nice his co-workers are. Jess peers down at her all moony-eyed, and catches Chris’ gaze in the distance as he ambles from his office.

“What goes on,” he asks lightly.

“Chris, this is Rory. Rory, Chris,” Jess offers simply.

“Ever the wordsmith,” Matt jokes.

Rory leans forward and happily greets him, murmuring another series of _hellos_ and _nice-to-meet-yous_ before Jess pulls her upstairs, waving off the gentle ribbing from his friends and discreetly flipping them the bird when Matt makes a raunchy remark. He pulls Rory into his studio and shuts the door behind them, an intense look on his face.

“Hi.”

“You said that already,” Rory whispers, stepping into Jess’ space, a hand braced on his shoulder.

“I did.”

“You look good,” she offers, sweeping a hand down his arm and slinging a finger into his belt loop.

Jess responds in kind, sliding a hand into Rory’s back pocket and pulling her close, their hips bracketed together like two puzzle pieces. “So do you,” he murmurs. “You grew out your hair,” Jess adds, twirling a strand between his thumb and forefinger.

She nods. “And you cut yours again,” Rory says, carding her fingers through his wild tresses and angling his head to press a line of kisses up the column of his neck. She slots her mouth over his next, sucking on his tongue and moaning lightly.

Jess groans against her, his mind going hazy as she dips her head and laves a tongue over his pulse point. In a blur of movement, Rory rips off her coat and cardigan, reaching down and working on his belt buckle before Jess pulls back, his neck flushed red. He laughs at the put out expression on her face, smacking a kiss to her cheek in apology.

“Hold on,” he mumbles.

“Why,” Rory demands. 

Jess leads her to his bed, holding up his hands placatingly. “I got you something,” he says, reaching into his desk for a thick manila envelope. “Think of it as an early birthday present.” His gaze skitters away, his ears burning scarlet.

Rory smiles despite herself, undoing the twine and cocking her head at Jess. “That’s not for another week,” she scolds, but delights in pulling out the envelope’s contents. “What is this…” she murmurs. The stack of paper falls onto her lap, crisp and still warm from the printer. The topmost page is blank save for a title and byline typed out in thick, black lettering. “ _The Subsect_ ,” Rory reads. “By…Jess Mariano?” She yanks her head up to face Jess, gaze wide-eyed.

“I finished it,” he offers quietly, shrugging in an unfazed manner. “It’s—I mean it’s done, but this is just a working draft. It still needs a lot of editing, but I wanted you to be the first to see it all compiled. You can read it, when you get a chance. Tell me if it sucks or not,” Jess jokes nervously.

“It does _not_ suck,” she insists. Rory stares down at the manuscript, fingers gently cradling and flipping through the pages like this were some prized possession. She hugs the papers to her chest. “I love it, Jess. I’m so proud of you, I—” Her throat closes up, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She knew he could do it, she _knew_ it. There aren’t enough words to describe how proud she is, so Rory carefully places the packet aside and rises to link her arms around Jess’ neck. She places a kiss at his browbone, the corner of his mouth, and finally square on his lips, her touch dizzy with pride and adoration.

“I love you,” Rory murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

Jess shudders from the ardent look on her face, her breath ghosting across his neck. He nudges his forehead against Rory’s, and they breathe in tandem. “I love you,” he responds, the _forever_ clear in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *my computer crashed so it's been a minute since my last update. this is coming at you from a very clunky dell i fished outta my garage*
> 
> i read a comment once that gg was as much about dads as it was about moms, and i really wanted to further explore that this chapter.. also just some standard r/j cuteness & convos

“We should probably get out of bed,” Jess suggests, smoothing a tremulous hand down the side of Rory’s bare hip. They’re laid against a mess of pillows and wrinkled sheets, a thin sheen of sweat covering their bodies as their breathing slows.

She hums, burying her face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder and inhaling. “No,” Rory whines, placing feather soft kisses at Jess’ pulse point. “Bed, good. Outside, bad.”

He smiles indulgently, chuckling at her rare showing of childishness and feeling a matching prickle of possessiveness and affection. Jess missed her so much; he’d spend the rest of his days locked in this room with Rory if he could, but they’ve got to refuel and make an appearance downstairs before Chris or Matt or any of the other employees wander up with some raunchy catcall.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Jess asks gently, tapping the pads of his fingers against her waist in a staccato rhythm. “Come on, I gotta get a Philly cheeseteak in you.”

At that, Rory perks up, lifting her head and eyeing Jess excitedly. She’s out of bed in the next breath, smacking a kiss to his jaw and swiftly pulling on her jeans and sweater.

As Jess readies himself, fishing his trousers from a pile of clothing on the floor and throwing on a stray hoodie, Rory settles at his desk, a contemplative look on her face. He watches as she runs a finger across the dimpled oak surface, ghosting her hands at the ancient typewriter next. She smiles softly, peeking back at Jess with a warm expression.

“Is this where the magic happens?” Rory teases, her eyes crinkling into pretty half-moons.

He snorts, fastening his watch and making his way over to her. “Nah, it’s just there for…inspiration,” he hems and haws, rolling his eyes slightly. After a moment, Jess shrugs. “It’s Jimmy’s,” he adds quietly.

Rory’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she gently taps her fingers against the keys. She wonders what the story behind it is, if it was Jimmy’s originally, if it made the decades-long trek out west and back east again. “Cool,” Rory murmurs.

Jess shrugs again, staring down at his feet. “I’ve been talking to him more,” he says. “About my job and writing and stuff. My trip after that summer I stayed with him.”

That’s news to Rory. She turns in her seat, bracketing his legs with her knees. Peering up at Jess, eyes wide with curiosity, she smiles encouragingly. “How was that?”

“Good.” The corner of Jess’ mouth curls into an unwitting smile. “He made a similar journey when he was around my age. I guess he got all nostalgic because before I knew it, he sent me a beat up copy of _Big Sur_ and that,” Jess explains, gesturing to the clunky behemoth. “The old man figures me the next Kerouac, I guess,” he says with a disbelieving snort.

The story warms Rory’s heart, but a stray something twists in her chest soon after. She would’ve loved that, to have been connected with her father in some intrinsic way. Even though Jess and Jimmy had a tenuous connection, it was still built on some kind of common ground. The most Christopher could muster was a belated Oxford English Dictionary purchase and stilted questions about her school newspaper. After the blow up at Emily and Richard’s vow renewal, Rory had cut off all contact with her father. He was relentless though, sending letters and emails and leaving phone messages full of apologies. Christopher and Lorelai had reached a truce of sorts—the kind of amends only possible between old friends—but Rory wasn’t so quick to forgive. It wasn’t like her to hold grudges; after all, seeing the best in others was her M.O. of choice. Paris, Tristan, Logan. Jess. She believed in people. But this particular relationship hurt too much, trudged her through over twenty years of cautious excitement and eventual disappointment.

Things reached a boiling point when word of Rory’s continual frostiness caused Luke to step in with his usual brand of awkward affection, and leaving her with much to consider. She made the trip out to Stars Hollow one weekend after finally finishing the last dregs of her work in Boston and was meeting her mother for lunch at Luke’s. The diner owner greeted her enthusiastically, flapping around her joint article in all its laminated splendor like a proud parent. But as she sipped on her coffee, he kept shooting her nervous glances and wringing a dishrag in his calloused hands.

“Luke,” Rory said, holding back a curious smile. “What is it?”

He peered surreptitiously around the diner, perhaps wary of Miss Patty or Babette’s eager ears. Luke gestured to the storage room in back. “Help me unload some stuff before your mom gets here, would ya?” He looked slightly pained at pitching the request, and Rory was momentarily reminded of the time Luke had asked her to tutor Jess way back when. That familiar, nausea-inducing anticipation flashing across his face.

She furrowed her brows but followed him anyway. “Are you alright, Luke?” Rory asked in concern, glancing from the diner owner to the endless shelves of dill pickles and Grey Poupon.

Luke started slashing open boxes of supplies to busy his hands, avoiding her gaze and lowering his voice. “I wanna start by saying I know it isn’t my place to get into this, and I know I’m just some crank, but I figured I’d give you my two cents anyway. I guess your mom’s knack for butting in is rubbing off on me,” he said wryly, and Rory readied herself for one of his patented rants. “It’s about your dad,” Luke started cautiously.

Rory’s heart plummeted to her stomach. “What did he do?” she asked urgently. “I swear, if he tried to—"

Luke shook his head. “It’s nothing like that,” he reassured, though his features were still twisted up uncomfortably. “Lorelai mentioned you and your dad weren’t speaking,” he hedged.

Rory leaned back against the wall opposite, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “We aren’t,” she said simply, tone flat.

He nodded slowly, considering his words. “I’m not his biggest fan, you know that. And if I never have to see his face again, I’d be a happy man. But seeing as he’s your dad, I figure that’s not exactly realistic. Because he’ll always be in your life, and I…am too. For the foreseeable future—not that I’m like your dad,” Luke awkwardly rushed to explain. “I just mean, me and your mom are together, and I’ve been around since you were a kid.” He grimaced, trying to present his argument coherently.

Rory cracked a smile at his floundering. “Luke, it’s okay. You’re—” she shrugged. “Family. You always have been.”

The diner owner’s cheeks warmed at that, and he cleared his throat gruffly, stifling a wave of tender emotion. “But your dad,” he said again, redirecting the conversation. “I know he messed up, I know it’s not all that easy to forgive him, but…” Luke trailed off, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. “You could hear him out,” he offered carefully. “He has a lot to apologize for, a lot to make up for with you. You know, after Jess met his dad at the diner a few years ago, after he told me he wasn’t graduating, we got into it. I was livid. I couldn’t think straight. Out of anger and frustration, I told him he had to go, and then after, we were too proud to talk about it. I wish—I _wish_ I could’ve apologized properly to him. It’s not exactly the same situation, but it’s hard for us old guys to get it right. Maybe we don’t deserve it, but a second chance could save things. It did with me and Jess. With him and Jimmy too.” Luke smiled helplessly at Rory, shrugging his shoulders in a jerky motion. “Anyways, I’m not pressuring you to do anything, just giving you some unsolicited advice. Think of me as Taylor in this situation,” he joked, scuffing the toe of his boot at the wood floor.

Rory cocked her head at the man, considering his words and trying to ignore the telltale ache in her chest. It would always hurt, she realized. Having people in your corner, it was constant work. But it was worth it in the end. It gave Rory a family after all. Despite the stinging behind her eyes, she smiled back at Luke as brightly as she could manage, thanking him and suggesting they get back out there before Ceaser burned down the diner. Before they could head out though, Lorelai suddenly popped her head in through the doorway, sending the pair a funny little smile.

“Secret meeting?” she quipped.

Rory rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “We’re planning your surprise birthday party,” she lied smoothly, enjoying the stricken look on Luke’s face.

Lorelai gasped in delight, chattering on about Birthday Mallomars and Guinness World Record Pizzas as Rory led them towards the counter.

In the back of her mind, flashes of her father played like an old film reel.

“What are you thinking about,” Jess murmurs, running the pad of his thumb at the crease between Rory’s eyes.

She’s pulled from her reverie and smiles sweetly up at him. “Luke,” she responds honestly.

Jess quirks a brow in confusion. “I haven’t seen you in over six months, and you’re thinking about my uncle,” he grouses, easily pulling Rory up and sitting her on the desk ledge. Jess’ arms bracket her at the sides as he nuzzles against her neck, warm puffs of air turning her skin to gooseflesh.

Rory reaches for words in her hazy brain. “Have you told Luke you finished your book?” she asks breathlessly.

“Short novel,” Jess corrects, his voice muffled against her pulse point. He places a soft kiss behind her ear before leaning back, an unreadable look on his face. “Not yet,” he admits.

Reaching out and cradling his cheek, Rory hums. “He’s gonna be so proud. My mom too. And Lane, your parents, everyone,” she gushes.

Jess’ face burns bright red, and he averts his gaze. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles embarrassedly. “Come on,” he says, leading Rory from his room. “There’s a cheesesteak around the corner with your name on it.”

Rory squeals with glee, turning back to eye Jess’ manuscript on the table and squeezing his hands tightly at all his hard work paying off. She tamps down any bitterness or confusion about Christopher for the moment. She’ll eventually get to a point where she can discuss her father, perhaps start to work through their muddled relationship. But all that matters right now is that she made it to Jess.

* * *

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to look it over, Rory,” Jess mutters into his beer, hiding a smile.

She flings a frito chip at his face, which he smartly dodges, and laughs lightly, twirling a red pen in her delicate fingers and thumping it against her thigh as The Clash plays on the stereo.

It had been a few days of hot reunion sex, sightseeing, and inhaling every Philadelphia dish Rory could get her hands on, but now they got down to business. She’d sped through a few reads of _The Subsect_ immediately after getting the manuscript, but Rory was eager to further discuss it with Jess and the rest of Truncheon’s staff. The quartet assembled a round table of sorts that evening—against the fervent protest of their star author—and was making their way through the first few chapters. All around them, Jess’ manuscript lay in a halo of marked up pages. The beer and pizza came later, and soon enough their work session unraveled with incredible chaos. Editing Jess’ stuff naturally gave way to discussions on Truncheon’s other manuscripts in the works, which led to Matt’s ridiculous though amusing stories concerning his sad stream of haggard poets.

Rory and Matt were currently enmeshed in a fierce debate over the merits of modern poetry—huffing and puffing over their differences re: feminist perspective, metaphor, imagery, and the like. Matt made the mistake of calling Sylvia Plath ‘droll’ and there was no holding Rory back after that. _The Bell Jar_ was one of the first books she cherished. And _The_ _Unabridged Journals_ were a constant on her bedside table for re-reading. (“’Lady Lazarus’ is a fine poem, I’ll admit. But the rest of her work…” Matt griped. Rory gasped. “You’re cracked!” she exclaimed, drawing a bark of laughter from Jess.)

She leans forward now, flipping through a few pages of _Subsect_ and highlighting bits of prose that clearly drew inspiration from Plath’s confessional, monologue style. She shoves the passages in Matt’s face.

“ _This_ is droll?” she asks incredulously.

The trio try to hold back their smiles—Jess, most of all. It was rare to catch Rory like this, flushed with excitement, guzzling a drink, and passionately defending her literary takes. She looked freer these days. Beautiful. Maybe it was her newfound confidence after starting Yale, maybe it was her recent journey into the grittier world of journalism. In any case, it was a sight to behold, and not for the first time, Jess is thankful he got to see this side of her early on. How she swelled in every environment, growing more assured and impassioned, with a perpetual air of grace and humility. It’s what made him fall in love with her to begin with.

Chris intercepts the next chip aimed at Matt and shoves his friend good-naturedly. “She’s got you there,” he says, taking the pages from Rory’s grasp and reading through her annotations. “This melds Plath’s style with more Beat-like prose. It’s familiar, but the story doesn’t really remind me of any contemporary works either. It’s beautiful.” Chris says it almost begrudgingly, eyeing Jess with a mix of admiration and suspicion. It was a look he gave only a few of his favorite writers. Rory looks on proudly.

Jess’ ears burn hot. He still doesn’t know how to take compliments, especially when it comes to his writing. For so long, this was simply a means to make sense of his lackluster life. Bumming around New York, his fever dream stay in Stars Hollow, but largely focused on his trip out west and back east. He took his life experiences and concocted a personal though fictitious story from all that. It was a kind of healing. A reckoning, too. But Jess never thought his words would go beyond scribbles in his beat up notebook. To have his friends and Rory not only read through but praise his work was a big step. One that still sent his heart hurtling into his throat.

“Well,” he hedges, nervously tapping his fingers along the desk edge.

Matt leans back against his armchair and sighs dramatically, though he smiles in concession. “It _is_ good,” he reassures, energetically smacking Jess’ shoulder. “A little rough around the edges, but we’ll get there. And with Rory’s help, it’ll be a bestseller. We’ll make history, we’ll be filthy rich! Random House who? Simon and Schuster who?” he crows, pumping his fist triumphantly.

Jess exchanges an amused look with Chris. “What would we do without Mr. Moneybags over here,” he jokes.

Rory giggles before twisting in her spot and reaching for the stereo. “Okay, enough of this.” She exchanges The Clash for something from her bag. “Lane’s been hounding me to get your thoughts on this. I listened to it my whole drive here, it’s crazy.”

Jess guffaws at what sounds like a barely coherent Iggy Pop crooning the first notes of “I Wanna Be Your Dog.” He catches her gaze and nods appreciatively.

Chris perks up at his side, recognition is his eyes. “How’d you score this?”

“My best friend Lane found some old bootleg stuff she got during a trip to Korea. This is one of her gems,” Rory explains, bopping along to the beat.

“She got this through customs? he asks, wide-eyed and impressed.

Rory laughs. “She strapped ‘em to her body like in _Midnight Express._ There’s no mission too daunting for her when it comes to music. Especially the obscure stuff.”

“Really,” Chris murmurs thoughtfully.

Jess immediately tenses, recognizing the moony look on his friend’s face. As calm and collected as the guy seemed, in the near year that he’s known him—in both a personal and work-related sense—Jess made the startling realization that Chris was a hopeless romantic. He may laugh and scoff at Matt’s antics, but he was really no better. It was just as well, Jess thought. In the world of literary freaks, everyone was a romantic one way or another. But his friend having the errant hots for Rory’s best friend wouldn’t do.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jess warns, taking another sip of his beer.

Matt looks on amusedly, smiling indulgently at Rory’s confused expression. “It may not look like it, but our dear Chris wears his heart on his sleeve. Your friend’s bootleg cd is as good as a love call to this poor melophile.”

Rory rears back in surprise. “Oh! Uh, she’d be flattered, I’m sure, but Lane is taken. And Dave plays in a band, so that’s pretty much the pinnacle of music idolatry and romance for her. Even if he is three thousand miles away.” She smiles gently. “Sorry, bud.”

“Dave, huh,” Chris mumbles. “What, some California _dude_?”

“He’s out there for school,” Jess explains. “He’s east coast homegrown though, a Connecticut native.”

“Oh, hot stuff,” Matt drawls, making a face at Jess’ description.

Rory lobs a crumpled up post-it at Matt, holding back a laugh. “They’re good together,” she says softly.

“John and Yoko?” he quips.

“Johnny and June,” Rory parries back.

“Laurie and Lou,” Jess adds for more context.

Chris leans his elbows on his knees, harrumphing. “You guys aren’t making me feel better. She _does_ sound cool though, I’d love to get a look at her record collection.”

Rory nods in agreement. “She’s actually heading out to California next month. She’s studying music theory at Connecticut State, but she got a position as a junior staffer this winter for some music publication in Socal,” she boasts proudly. “Which brings her one step closer to the larger L.A. music scene, which means she could end up working for _Rolling Stone_ one day or opening for The Strokes or Karen O or interviewing Stevie Nicks on Fleetwood Mac’s reunion tour!”

Jess smiles at her sudden burst of energy, at the future she envisions for her friend. “And where do you fit into all this?” he asks.

“I’m gonna be meeting up with her in London or Paris for lunch in a few years’ time and regaling her with tales about war criminals or the latest political scandal,” Rory answers primly.

“Well, as long as you got a plan.”

Matt tucks a pen behind his ear, watching them with a curious look. “Overseas political correspondent. Music buff and potential _Stones_ writer. Publisher and soon-to-be bestselling author.” He ticks them off one by one. “Stars Hollow is certainly putting out some crazy talent.”

“Hey, I’m a transplant,” Jess says with a snort. “Don’t lump me with them.”

In a rare showing of PDA, Rory rises from her seat and plops onto Jess’ lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and smiling down at him. Always, always, she smells like a sweet mix of citrus and hops. It makes him dizzy with affection.

“I don’t know,” Rory murmurs, “I think we can claim you as one of our own.”

Her voice is as tender as the expression on her face, and Jess can’t even be bothered by the longsuffering chortles from his friends. He pats a hand against her hip, leaning into a quick kiss and enjoying the warmth that floods his chest.

* * *

“So, how do you feel?”

Rory leans back in the swinging porch seat, face tipped skyward. It’s a clear night, the nippy chill of autumn settling into Stars Hollow nicely. She turns to Jess, expression thoughtful. “I feel old,” she admits.

“Oh yeah, twenty-one is the new sixty-five. We’ll have to sign you up for an AARP account soon,” Jess deadpans.

She nudges his shoulder with hers, pouting. “Hey,” Rory chides. “I’m being contemplative here. Humor me.”

“Sorry,” he says with a light chuckle, sliding a warm palm across the nape of her neck. “So, you’re old,” Jess surmises.

Rory nods. Behind them, the party swells with pandemonium, a cacophony of Lorelai’s buoyant voice and the townspeople’s raucous laughter. Music blasts from the stereo, and last the pair saw before slipping out the side door, Kirk had pulled Lulu up and tried to break dance to Bowie. Jess’ gaze drifts from the house and across the front lawn, to the line of pine trees against an indigo sky. His voice is light.

“That’s not exactly a bad thing, is it? You can legally drink now, you can gamble, you can adopt a child, you can…” Jess taps a finger to his chin. “Get your pilot’s license.”

“All thrilling options,” she answers flatly.

Jess laughs at the look on Rory’s face, reaching around and tugging on her earlobe. After a moment, he leans in, voice quieter. “You don’t like it?”

“I do,” she concedes. “But it feels too fast, you know? Like, time is rushing past me and I have to sprint to keep up. There’s so much I want to do, so much I need to see. But the more I charge forward and make plans, the more I’m worried I’ll turn back one day and realize I never enjoyed any of it. I want to take it all in when it matters. Remember it all,” Rory breathes out. Her cheeks blaze in embarrassment all of a sudden. It’s not often she delves into the more philosophical rants in front of Jess. “I’m being a little weepy,” she defends lightly. “It’s my birthday, what can I do?”

Jess threads their fingers together, smiling widely at Rory’s sentimental rambling. She’s perfect like this—eyes trained forward, stance readied, heart thumping wildly in her chest at what the future may hold. A younger Jess might’ve thought her worries useless, but here and now, he could see why having the world at your fingertips might send one spiraling. But he watched with bated breath anyway. Jess knew Rory would be okay. She was brilliant, and he was excited to see her live the life she was capable of.

“You’ll do it all,” he says simply. She looks unsure, so he squeezes their joined hands for added emphasis. “You _will_ , I promise.” And they’re seventeen again, careening down Main Street after failed attempts at studying and an impromptu ice cream run, talking more seriously than ever before about their lives. Jess made a similar promise to Rory that night, and she never forgot it.

She chews on her lip, squashing the urge to kiss him madly on her mother’s porch. “Yeah?”

Jess smiles. “Yeah.”

Before they can continue their conversation, Paris comes stumbling out the front door, Doyle and Logan in tow. The trio watches the lovebirds through bleary gazes.

“What are you doing out here, Gilmore?” Paris demands. She jerks her thumb back at the house. “Get your butt inside, your mother won’t stop talking about your birth, something about sailors and a crate of dynamite. It’s giving me hives.”

Rory rolls her eyes, groaning dramatically as she rises and clasps Jess’ hand. “Alright, alright. I thought my grandparents might keep her busy, at least,” she grumbles.

Logan takes a swig of his beer and laughs lightly. He looks unfamiliar dressed so casually, sipping on some IPA instead of a bottle of De Venoge. Jess considers the man carefully, knowing he and Rory have settled into an easy friendship. Logan seems to regard Jess just as cautiously, smiling genially and nodding, but keeping a healthy distance. When Rory inquires about her grandparents again, his eyes skitter away. “Richard’s dozing off already, Ace.”

“Yeah, because Huntzberger’s been feeding him cup after cup of punch,” Doyle supplies. Logan hip checks the diminutive man, tutting.

“Miss Patty’s jungle juice?” Rory screeches. She blusters back into the house, pulling Jess forward and babbling worriedly. He swallows a snort; he can only imagine the older Gilmores getting lush from the dance teacher’s homemade hooch. But small town quirks aside, Jess knew Rory was overjoyed her grandparents attended tonight’s party. She’d mentioned one birthday bash years ago where Emily gifted her light-up bracelets and Richard happily read from _Cosmo_. It sounded outlandish, a happy, chaotic hodge-podge of family.

They weave through a crowd of cheerful townsfolk and find Richard lazing in the armchair, snoring loudly as Davey tries to sneakily place a party hat on the man’s head. Lorelai and Luke aren’t far off, watching in amusement before catching sight of Rory.

“Birthday girl!” Lorelai sing-songs, the half drunken crowd chanting the greeting in return. She pulls her daughter closer, and Lane wraps a hot pink feather boa around her, smiling cheekily at her best friend’s protests. Rory looks back at Jess, expression put out though her cheeks are suddenly flushed in delight.

Jess shakes his head indulgently, plucking a cup of punch from Michel’s passing form and raising his hand in cheers. He feels someone join him at his side a moment later.

“She looks happy.” Emily Gilmore’s tone is caught somewhere between affection and resignation. Jess turns and warily watches her. She’s dressed to the nines as usual, immaculate in a way that Edith Wharton would’ve been proud of. Her expression is thoughtful though, and he wonders if the older woman sees too much of Lorelai’s rebellion in Rory, or too foreign a brand of quiet individuality. She meets Jess’ gaze evenly.

“I suppose you have something to do with that,” Emily murmurs cryptically.

He shrugs, face neutral. He doesn’t trust his voice right now, doesn’t want to say the wrong thing or have his tone come out biting. The older Gilmores still set him on edge.

Emily takes a delicate sip of her drink, unfazed by Jess’ continued silence. “Lorelai and your uncle tell me you’ve been working in Philadelphia. Publishing, was it? And something about your own novel too, I believe.”

Jess’ ears burn hot despite himself, a clear giveaway, and Emily smiles at his reaction. Her tone goes gentler now. “You know, Richard is as much a book lover as Rory is. I’m sure he’d have much to discuss with you. You should come over for dinner one evening,” she offers.

Gripping his cup with a clammy hand, Jess swallows. He catches the megawatt smile Rory sends them and finds himself nodding. “That’d be nice, thank you.”

* * *

Rory makes the quick trek from the newsroom to her and Paris’ apartment with halting steps. All around her, a frenetic energy fills campus, students lazing around the quad surrounded by abandoned textbooks and enjoying the last few dregs of sunlight instead. Spring break and a final round of midterms are just around the corner, and everyone is caught in the strange limbo of finishing their work and anticipating the end of the year. Rory herself is half a world away, her mind a haze of jumbled thoughts as she reflects on the latest news.

Doyle had taken her aside earlier, naming her the newest chief editor after his impending matriculation. Rory gawked at the man, scared that she’d misheard him. She thought for sure Paris would be the next in line, but with her friend gearing up for MCATs and medical school applications, and Rory’s steady effort in making a name for herself in domestic and international politics, _she_ was the natural choice. Still, it stunned her.

Rory rounds the crest of a slight hill, nearing their apartment complex on the outskirts of campus, and pulls her phone out with a shaky hand. She needs to call her mother; Lorelai’s gonna freak. Editor at the Yale Daily News? Her Whiffenpoofs ancestors would be proud. A noise near the entrance pulls her focus in, the hair on the back of Rory’s neck standing on end. Lane had made it a habit of sending her best friend updates on campus criminal activity lately, and she was vigilant to a tee now that she lived outside the ivy-covered walls of Yale.

When she yanks her head up though, Rory is met with her father of all people. Christopher leans against the bike rack stiffly, arms hanging limply by his sides, expression cautious. He does his best to smile in greeting, a sheepish curl of his lips. “Hey, kid.” He makes no move to near her.

Rory hitches her bookbag higher on her shoulder, clutching her phone nervously. It’s surprise more than hostility that she feels—a strange twist in her gut. She has the sudden urge to flee, but instead, she plants her feet firmly in her spot and stares right back. “Dad,” she murmurs. “What are you doing here?”

Christopher shifts his weight from one foot to the other, running a hand across the sparse five o’clock shadow covering his jaw. He looks…tired, Rory decides. Perhaps it’s a mix of a demanding job and raising a hellion toddler. Or maybe it’s a latent haggardness from continuously being frozen out by his firstborn. In any case, it hurts seeing him. Rory wraps the sleeve of her sweater between her fingers, anxious for his answer.

“I’m here to see you,” Christopher says quietly. “I didn’t hear back from you at Christmas or New Years, so…” he trails off, taking a careful step forward.

“So, you thought you’d just show up at my place,” Rory concludes, unsure if she’s offended or relieved at finally seeing him in the flesh. It’s a dull ache at this point—the place where she holds all her love for Christopher.

Her mother, Luke, Jess even, had been gently nudging Rory to contact him as of late, concerned at watching her ignore the proverbial elephant in the room. So much had been resolved, but Rory’s stance on her father remained an enigma. She could feel their eyes on her and considered calling him up, maybe replying to one of his thousand emails, to ease their worries. But before she could take that first step, here he was. Rory is suddenly reminded of Christopher interrupting Friday night dinner one day years ago. Hopping off his 2000 Indian and barging into the Gilmore house, in desperate search of Lorelai and Rory. Impulsive as always. It thrilled her as much as it hurt. That he always seemed to care enough to try.

“I’m sorry,” Christopher says now, voice heavy with something akin to grief. Slowly, he reaches for his daughter’s hand, and it means everything that Rory allows it. Squeezes his palm in hers and tries to keep her tears at bay. “Rory, I’m more sorry than I could ever be. Please, kid, let’s talk about this. I can’t lose you again.”

The words are right on her tongue, _And whose fault is that, Dad_? But Rory is tired—exhausted actually—from carrying around this pain. Jess told her about it sometimes, how he’d grown up heaving his grief onto his back like armor. So many missed opportunities, so many failed attempts at family hardened him. And while he turned out no worse for the wear in the end, he didn’t want that for Rory. She looks at Christopher now, older, not much wiser, but trying so, so hard, and her heart breaks. She pictures him at her age, eternally scared with parents who couldn’t be bothered to nurture, and she tempers some of her bitter resentment. Vows to give her father a chance to make up for lost times. If not for his sake, then for hers.

“I was just named the next editor of the Yale paper,” Rory blurts suddenly, clutching her father’s hand like a lifeline. Tears pool at the corner of her eyes, her muddled brain struggling to work through a chaotic thrum of excitement, pride, and sheer terror. She wants so badly to do well, wants her dad around to see it all unfold.

The smile blooming on Christopher’s face could rival the sun, and he laughs boisterously, gently wrapping his hands at Rory’s shoulders in congratulations. “That’s incredible, Rory!” he exclaims. He looks at her, wonder and recognition and sadness warring in his features, and shakes his head. “I’m so proud of you. You’re Lorelai through and through, with all of her courage and smarts. You’re the best of the Gilmore clan, kid,” he jokes wryly, holding her a little tighter, like she might disappear.

Gently, Rory wrestles from her father’s grasp, fixing him with a leveling gaze. “You’re a part of me too, Dad,” she chides, her cheeks heating up at the admission, at the sentimentality of it all. “Even if you aren’t always there…” she tacks on ruefully. _I’m yours too,_ she thinks sadly. _So take responsibility, please._

Christopher slightly hangs his head, swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry,” he repeats for the third time, chest aching.

“It can’t always be like this, Dad,” Rory says in lieu of accepting his apology. “I’m sorry you missed your chance with Mom, I know that hurts. But it was foolish of you to fall for Grandma’s schemes.”

“It was.”

“And I’m still here,” Rory offers in a small voice. “Your relationship with me shouldn’t be contingent on whether or not you’re with Mom. I should be enough.”

It feels freeing to say it out loud. So many years ago, on Christopher’s first visit to Stars Hollow, Rory found herself pressed up against her bedroom door, listening to her parents get into it. He’d senselessly proposed to Lorelai that morning, and when she shot him down, his tone grew somber, desperate. _“I don’t realize how much I miss Rory until I see her. It’s easier staying away,”_ he’d admitted. Rory looks at Christopher with imploring eyes now, needing him to understand. There were only so many chances she could give him, so many times she could stomach being an afterthought to his dreams of settling down with Lorelai. He had to be her father first, before he was her mother’s old flame.

They have dinner together that evening, settled in Rory’s humble living room, surrounded by takeout containers as Paris holes up in her bedroom, beautiful-minding it over med school preparations. It was still a precarious situation between her and Christopher. One chance meeting wasn’t going to immediately fix their relationship, and palpable awkwardness hung in the air. But, Rory reminded herself, it was better than nothing. And it was a step in the right direction.

As they wrap things up, his mood turns ruminative and he pulls Rory into a hug. “You know, the day you were born, I was at cram school, none the wiser. I finally got this panicked voicemail from your grandparents, and by the time I got to St. Francis Hospital, there you were. I held you in my arms for the first time, and you were just…perfect,” Christopher says with a wet chuckle. “For so long, I thought your mom was Wonder Woman, and I was just some unwitting sidekick. And then you came along, and the prospect of playing a central role in your life scared the hell out of me,” he admits. “I didn’t want to screw you up. I was sure you’d be better off with just Lorelai.”

“She was scared too,” Rory says, her voice muffled by the way she burrows into his chest, but with a tone far too sage for a daughter speaking to her father. “She was really scared,” she repeats, voice thick.

She feels Christopher nod. “I know,” he says solemnly. “It was cowardly of me. And then I kept messing up. Losing you after pulling the same old stupid crap. I took the easy way out, Rory, but I want to make up for that. I want to be there for you, if you’ll let me.”

“Be another pal?” she asks quietly, hating that phrase from her parents’ conversation back then.

“Be your dad,” Christopher corrects. “In whatever way I can,” he adds uncertainly.

Rory nods, patting her father soundly on the back and sending him off with a wobbly smile and a promise to talk soon.

“Bring Gigi,” she suggests. “We can get breakfast next time.”

Christopher’s face lights up. He nods eagerly, waving goofily as he passes the threshold.

“And Dad,” she calls out, tone soft. He turns back. “You didn’t lose me,” she says carefully, avoiding his eyes so as not to start crying. Christopher’s throat stings. He searches for the words, but Rory shoots him a lopsided smile and murmurs a quiet _“Goodnight”_ before shutting the door.

* * *

Preparations for the Firelight Festival are in full swing, and by the time Jess takes the exit for Stars Hollow and begins to drive the familiar roads, every nook and cranny of the picturesque town is adorned in twinkle lights. It looks like Starry Night regurgitated onto the town square, but there’s something sort of romantic about it, he has to admit.

Jess pulls into a spot by Doose’s and kills the engine, grabbing something from the glove compartment and hop-skipping from the car in a rush to meet Rory. The festivities are just starting up, crowds trickling through the streets as Mayor Porter’s jovial voice thunders from the gazebo. Jess moseys past Weston’s and towards the high school, where he finds Rory and Lane sitting on the steps, chatting animatedly.

“Hey,” he calls out.

“Hey, yourself,” Rory responds easily, rising and dusting off her backside.

Lane looks between them with a patient, amused look, used to the lovebirds’ little reunions. She presses her cheek to Rory’s in goodbye and bounds down the steps and towards Jess, winking at him mischievously. “See ya, Romeo.”

“Hey, how was California?” Jess asks before she can make her exit.

She lights up, cheeks flushing with joy. “Awesome!”

“Yeah? You do anything other than suck face with Rygalski, or—”

“Bye, Jess,” Lane grunts, smacking his shoulder and shoving him in her best friend’s direction.

Rory watches their exchange with a glint in her eye. “Hi,” she says softer when they’re inches apart, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, their noses brushing.

“You said that already,” Jess murmurs, smiling into a kiss that grows too hot and heavy too quickly, and causes Rory to pull back with an appreciative groan.

“I missed you,” she admits. It’s only been about three weeks since they last saw each other, but after the long-distance stretch of their relationship, any prolonged period of separation felt like torture. Jess hums in agreement, threading his fingers with Rory’s as they amble towards the bonfire.

“How goes the publishing world?” she asks after a while, leaning further into his side.

Jess smiles widely despite himself, nudging Rory at the hip and pulling back slightly. “It’s going,” he says cryptically. “In fact, I have something to show you.”

“Oh?” she murmurs. “Color me curious.” Rory clasps her hands behind her back, expression put on and expectant.

Jess fishes the thing out from his back pocket, smoothing a hand over the front cover before presenting it to Rory. It’s small, unassuming, with a shiny black binding and no-nonsense font. She gasps, plucking it from his hold and cradling it in her hands like some precious thing. Rory shrieks loudly, so loud in fact a few heads turn in the couple’s direction, their faces curious.

“Relax,” Jess says with a snort before Rory unceremoniously launches herself into his arms, legs braced around his hips, face shoved forward, and expression gleaming.

“You did it, you finished it, you published it!” she chants excitedly.

Jess can’t help but laugh, finding her excitement contagious. His cheeks go a little red. “I did,” he says quietly. “Thanks to you.”

Rory’s already shaking her head, chattering on that he was brilliant, that he did this himself, that she knew he could do it. She leaps down, eyes glued to the book as she flips through the pages. “I can’t believe it,” she whispers. “It’s _here._ We should sit down and read this,” Rory says in a rush. “At the bridge. Or back at the diner. I’m gonna annotate it and everything!”

“Hey,” Jess interrupts, tipping her chin up with his finger.

She grins at him, a little sheepish. “Yeah?”

“You know, it’s two years to the day.”

“What day?”

“Since I got you back,” he mumbles, eyes skittering to the crowded streets, the twinkle lights, the waft of firewood.

Rory thinks back to that fateful night, eyes shiny. The chase through the town square, the slap, the _I love you._ Only they could achieve such a special brand of chaotic romance, it seems. They’d be telling their kids about it one day, Rory was sure of it. “Yup,” she says, popping the ‘p’ and scooting closer, pocketing the book in her coat and wrapping her arms around Jess’ waist. After a moment, she peers up at him. “Any regrets?”

His face turns serious as he runs a warm hand down the side of Rory’s cheek. “No,” he answers resolutely.

She presses a tender kiss to his palm. “Good, me either. I think I’ll keep you, mister,” Rory jokes to lighten the intense mood.

“Me too.” And it feels like a vow when he says it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! probably an epilogue next?? to wrap things up


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